


Blessed are the Forgetful: An Eternal Sunshine AU

by missbip0lar



Category: Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004), Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Community: DeanCas Big Bang, Dysfunctional Relationships, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, M/M, Memory Loss, panic disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2013-10-17
Packaged: 2017-12-29 17:40:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1008208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbip0lar/pseuds/missbip0lar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every year, they meet. Every year, they fall in love. And every year, they both make the decision to forget.</p>
<p>(soundtrack will be posted when i finish it because 8tracks is a pain)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i.

_**Title:** Blessed Are The Forgetful: An Eternal Sunshine AU_

_**Author:** missbip0lar_

_**Fandom/Genre:** Supernatural, Romance, Hurt/Comfort_

_**Pairings:** Dean/Castiel, background Sam/Jess, implied Castiel/Meg_

_**Rating:** NC-17 Overall_

_**Word Count:** This part: 7589 Total: 22,329_

_**Warnings:** Angst. Lots of angst. I’m still trying to decide if I’m sorry. Dysfunctional relationships, emasculation and what could possibly be considered misogynistic slurs; potentially triggering material regarding physical abuse, dubious consent, and talk of anxiety/panic disorders. Brief mention of minor canon character death._

_**Summary:** Every year, they meet. Every year, they fall in love. And every year, they both make the decision to forget._

**_ART BY LIZFU CAN BE FOUND[HERE](http://lizfu.livejournal.com/)_ **

 

 

 

 

 

_Blessed are the forgetful, for they get the better even of their blunders._

_-Nietzsche-_

__

__

**i.**

 

“Mr. Winchester?” The woman’s voice sounds far away. “Mr. Winchester, are you with me?”

 

Dean blinks, turns his head toward her. “Huh?” he says, then realizes where he is. He is standing in the doorway of a white room. There is a white desk with two white chairs before it. Behind the desk sits a woman in a crisp, well-tailored grey pants suit; her hair tied back in a tight and conservative bun. She has a slightly intimidating look about her, and fake smile is laced with malice and poison. The man seated on the other side of the desk is somewhat wary as well. Dean would know; this has already happened, it’s him seated opposite the poisonous woman with the charming fake smile, and yet he himself still stands in the doorway watching the scene unfold. No one can see or hear him. The Dean in the chair has his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. “Yeah,” he forces out. “Yeah, I’m with ya.”

 

“Are you ready to begin the process?” The woman asks, all chipper and business-like, it’s the tone of a therapist who silently judges her patients as soon as they reveal their darkest secrets, her facade never wavering.

 

“Sure, let’s just get this over with,” mumbles the Dean in the chair.

 

Dean wants to shout at him, tell himself it’s not worth it, that it’s never been worth it. You’re better than this! he wants to scream, but he can’t. His tongue is tied, his heart is racing, he can’t find his voice amidst that fucked-up feeling of deja vu he’d assumed he was used to by now. So instead, all Dean can do is watch his own world fall apart again.

 

The woman clicks on a tape recorder in the center of the desk and, speaking loudly enough for the entire fucking world to hear, begins the proceedings. “Lacuna Incorporated case number 620-817, Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak,” she reads from the file on her desk. She looks up at the Dean in the chair, “today’s date is the twenty-third of January, 2013. Please state your name for the record.”

 

“Dean Winchester,” he mutters.

 

“And I’m Naomi, Assistant Director of Operations at Lacuna Incorporated. Let’s get started, shall we?” she smiles. “This session will be recorded for our archives, is that okay Mr. Winchester?”

 

Dean watches himself shift in the chair, sniff a little, and shrug, and he knows what the woman is going to say next.

 

“I need to you to speak up Mr. Winchester, so the voice recorder can hear you.”

 

“That’s fine,” Dean grunts, shifting uncomfortably in his seat again.

 

“Okay, Dean. Now tell me about Castiel,” Naomi requests gently.

 

“What is there to say?” Dean says bitterly. “He’s confusing and frustrating and awkward as hell, and he pisses me off so bad, but for some reason I can’t get my mind off him. He makes me question myself and everything I’ve ever known, and he can go from zero to a hundred on the emotional scale in less than a second. The disagreements were loud and violent... and they usually ended with mind-blowing sex... But now he’s gone - doesn’t remember me or any of the good times we had - all because of _you people._ ”

 

“Why don’t we talk about the good times, Dean?” Naomi suggests, completely unbothered by Dean’s hostility.

 

The Dean in the doorway - _the **real** Dean,_ he has to remind himself - simply stands and watches, reliving the exact same scene from just a few short hours ago when he was actually in that chair, fighting back tears and violence. He remembers wanting to run out of the office to go find Cas, kiss him stupid and shout _why would you do this to us?_ until he’s blue in the face. But instead he just sat there and let Lacuna Incorporated erase Castiel from his memories.

 

“What did you love about him?” Naomi prompts.

 

“The way he smiles,” Dean says immediately, but his dream self is far too stubborn to be that honest.

 

“He’s Cas,” is all the Dean seated can say, adding a pathetic shrug to top it off.

 

“Okay... go on,” Naomi urges. Dean stays silent. Naomi lets out a sigh and eyes her patient, then continues, “I’m not here to judge you, Dean, but we need honesty from you right now so this process is as painless and harmless as possible for you. I understand that you are bitter and resentful towards us. But you must remember _Castiel came to us,_ and so did you. Don’t be hateful when we are doing you a favor. We are the good guys, Mr. Winchester. This is your chance to relive those happy memories because it only gets harder from here, and by this time tomorrow you won’t even know who Castiel Novak is. You need to do this. For your own peace of mind.”

 

“We met last year,” the Dean in the chair begins, “on my birthday. Sam and me went up to the Roadhouse for beers, like we do every year, and he was just... there. I bought him drinks all night long, absolutely shitfaced, and the bastard just let me,” he chuckles. “Come to think of it, so did Ellen and Bobby and Sam. I was completely infatuated after one smile. We, uh... we went home together that night. I dunno, it just progressed from there, spending all our free time together, going to movies, cooking for each other... we had fun.”

 

As Dean listens to himself talk about Cas he subconsciously steps forward, and Naomi’s eyes flick up to meet his. Dean freezes. Somehow he knows that he shouldn’t be able to be seen, and his dream self just keeps talking and doesn’t notice. All at once Naomi is out of her chair. She’s striding toward Dean with urgency, shoving him back towards the doorway to the office, hissing _you shouldn’t be here._ She finally slams the door in his face and...

 

...And he finds himself seated on an examining table, wires attached to his hairline with sticky adhesive and some sort of mechanical scanner positioned around his head. The Director of Operations, Crowley, and his technicians are bustling around the room monitoring his vital signs on machines, taking notes on clipboards, digging through the bag of Castiel-related mementos and belongings Dean was instructed to bring. He remembers this part, and he’s not sure how this is going to work if he’s already done it and no one can see him. But Naomi could see him when he got close enough to her, and now he’s just…

 

“You look confused,” Crowley snarks. He holds himself with an air of smugness, and his perfectly-tailored suit is far too swanky for a place like this. He reminds Dean of a shark almost, with a sinister smile and eyes that seem to be sizing him up as a meal.

 

“I’ve already done this, haven’t I?” he asks cautiously.

 

“Yes, this is all part of the process. My tech people are currently in your apartment, you’re asleep, and they’re picking through your head to get to the really meaty memories and zap ‘em.”

 

One of the technicians, a woman with dark hair and a round set face whose nametag reads simply _Meg,_ sneers at him and says, “Hi I’m Meg and I’ll be erasing your memories today.” She examines the machines he’s hooked up to for a few moments, then steps back and pulls something from the bag so she can set it on the table in front of Dean. “What we’re doing now,” she explains, “is tracking your brain to see how you remember certain stimuli. Allow yourself to react to each object we put in front of you however you would if you were at home reminiscing, alright?”

 

Dean looks at what’s been placed on the table and huffs out a laugh. “Cas got this for me because he thought I could benefit from decent literature,” he mutters, picking up the leather-bound tome from the table.

 

“Remember silently, please,” one of the other technicians says irritably. “Easier to map your brain when you think instead of speak.”

 

So Dean doesn’t talk anymore, just flips through the HP Lovecraft anthology Cas had gotten him on a whim one day. He remembers the way Cas just shrugged and said _I promise, you’ll like it,_ and _Sci-fi and horror are your thing. Just because it wasn’t written in the last ten years doesn’t mean it’s not fantastic and scary._ Dean had liked it - loved it, in fact. They’d lain in bed together that night reading their respective books practically til the sun came up, Cas constantly having to push his reading glasses back up where they belonged and running his fingers through Dean’s hair every once in awhile, as if checking to make sure he was still there.

 

Castiel’s coffee cup is the next object placed before him, and Dean puts the book down to run his fingers over the ceramic handle that Cas’ fingers haven’t touched in nearly a month now, and the chip on the lip of the mug from the time Dean had accidentally dropped it while washing dishes one morning after breakfast. Cas had merely laughed, much to Dean's surprise, before giving him a light peck on the cheek and dragging him upstairs to the shower.

 

Next is the photo Dean had taken of Cas when they were on vacation, Cas' toothy grin and aviator sunglasses taking up the majority of his face as they'd laughed about this or that. Dean smiles, full of bittersweet nostalgia and a vague sense of loneliness at the fact that _they'd been so happy together._ _God,_ Dean thinks, _when things between Cas and me were good, they were so good._ But then Dean can’t help but recall the bad times, and how dreadful those bad times really were.

 

When Dean opens his eyes again, he’s standing in the living room of his dingy one-bedroom apartment, listening as Castiel screams at him. Cas’ words cut deep, “You’re the most emotionally constipated person I’ve ever met, Dean! Why can’t we have a single goddamned conversation that doesn’t revolve around you, or your fucking car, or that one fucking episode of Dr. Sexy that you have forced me to sit through thirty motherfucking times? I am trying to actually communicate here, Dean, and it seems like you want no part of it!”

 

 _This is it,_ Dean realizes. _The last fight we’ll ever have._

 

“Constantly talking isn’t necessarily communicating, Cas!” he shouts in retaliation. “And maybe we would talk about you and your interests if you weren’t always whining about how the waitress got your order wrong again, how you can’t say anything, _God fucking forbid,_ because then she would judge you for being overly finicky about your meal, which, you are,” Dean points out. “I can barely go out in public with you, Cas, without you panicking about something.”

 

“I have had enough of your condescending attitude, Dean Winchester; it’s called chronic anxiety, and if you would listen to me once in awhile, you would know that, and you could learn how to handle it better instead of freezing up when I have a panic attack. Dean, I need support, not someone who’s going to flake out at the first sign of a bad day!”

 

“ _Every day_ is a bad day for you anymore, Cas!” Dean argues. “The second you wake up you’re grumpy and silent; I understand not being a morning person, but your mood should improve throughout the day, and I wouldn’t call ‘nervous’ and ‘sullen’ and ‘annoyed’ much of an improvement!”

 

“No, they all turn into bad days because you’re constantly walking on eggshells from the second I wake up in the morning,” Cas states. “If my mood doesn’t improve it’s because you’re getting on my last nerve!”

 

“Yes,” Dean says, “I am constantly walking on eggshells around you, because I never have any idea from one day to the next how you’re going to be. Angry? Sad? Scared? _I never know with you._ So I tread lightly until I know what the day’s going to be like.”

 

“But Dean, you ‘treading lightly’ is what upsets me most days that I’m fine,” Castiel points out. “I can only hear _what’s wrong_ and _talk to me_ so many times before I snap, Dean.”

 

“I thought communication is what you wanted!” Dean shouts, frustrated and confused. “You can’t pick and choose when communication is the answer and when keeping everything to yourself is! It’s confusing to everyone around you!”

 

“Perhaps attempting to understand me would make things less confusing to you.”

 

Castiel crosses his arms over his chest, oozing the smugness and superiority that has become the very bane of Dean’s existence, like Cas thinks just because he has a ‘mental illness’ he automatically wins every fucking fight they ever have.

 

“God, we should have just kept this simple,” Dean mutters under his breath. “I should have never let it go beyond a one night stand.”

 

Castiel stops his pacing and turns to face Dean with his eyes aflame. “Excuse me?”

 

“You heard me,” Dean spits, growing bold in the face of Cas’ dangerous expression. “Should have fucked you and moved on. It would have been better in the long run if I hadn’t let myself get charmed by you. No strings attached sex is so much easier.”

 

As soon as the words leave his lips he regrets them. He knows where this conversation is headed, remembers the way Cas had looked at him when he’d crossed the line before, and it’s going to happen again and he wishes they could both just _shut the fuck up_ and not let this happen a _second fucking time,_ but Dean’s not in control here and it’s terrifying because his mouth is just saying _whatever the fuck it wants._

 

“And you think I would have allowed that to happen?” Cas asks him, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Do you think I’m some kind of common harlot, Dean? That I would be willing to lie on my back for anyone who would have me?”

 

Castiel is daring him to say it, to confirm his suspicions, and Dean can’t stop himself from saying the one thing he fucking knows he shouldn’t, because it’s what ended this whole thing in the first place. _“Isn’t that how you get people to like you, Cas?”_ Dean asks in a whisper. He swallows around the lump in his throat threatening to choke him, suffocate him, drown him in the despair he’s been hiding from for nearly a month now.

 

Cas’ eyes widen in horror, as they had that night, the last time they’d had this fight. He huffs out a sardonic laugh and shakes his head.

 

“You are un-fucking-believable,” he chokes out, and Dean can barely hear the way Cas’ voice cracks with emotion over the ringing in his own ears. “I’m leaving.”

 

Castiel puts his trench coat on over his oversized blue sweater and it doesn’t look quite right, because it’s not quite Cas. Then again, neither are the rivulets of tears falling down his cheeks, or the shaking of his hands as he removes his key to Dean’s apartment from his keyring, or the way he bites out, “Happy fucking New Year’s you gigantic prick,” as he slams the door behind him.

 

“Whatever, Cas!” Dean shouts after him, in a way he hadn’t the first time. “I’m fucking _erasing you, **right now,**_ and there isn’t a single goddamn thing you can do about it! _ **I’m erasing you, Cas,**_ ” Dean bellows to no one. “I’m erasing you and it’s the **_best fucking decision I’ve ever made!_** ”

 

It’s not true, and Dean feels like he could vomit just thinking about the way things ended, how he hadn’t gone after Cas that night, and how he’d moped around the apartment for a week with his tail between his legs like a kicked puppy. _Tonight’s going to be different. I’m going after him._

 

Dean doesn’t even bother with shoes, just runs to the front door and grabs the key Cas left behind. He throws the door open and stumbles into the hall of the apartment complex. He’s shouting Castiel’s name over and over again as the hallway just keeps getting longer and longer and _fucking longer._ _Why is the hallway getting longer?_ The world’s tilting on its axis now, and the never-ending hall is getting black, and there’s nothing in front of him and nothing behind him but blackness. Dean can only call out Cas’ name one more time before he passes out feeling like he can’t see or hear. _Shellshocked, almost?_

 

“Cas!” Dean shouts, sitting bolt upright in bed, and it’s not his bed but Cas’. The king sized bed with a million pillows and the blue comforter that matches Castiel’s eyes is familiar, and the window on Dean’s side that faces east and never fails to wake Dean early enough so he can make them coffee and waffles before Cas wakes up.

 

Cas has already been startled awake, and Dean realizes it’s more memories. This moment has already happened. When Castiel sits up beside him, grumpy like he is every morning, mutters “What the fuck, Dean? It’s 7:15 on a Sunday. I’m right fucking here and going back to sleep,” andDean knows to simply shush him and rub his fingertips over Cas’ spine until he hums in sleepy contentment. The pillows look incredibly inviting, as does Cas’ bare back. The angry red welts Dean’s fingernails  left the night before only now beginning to fade, so Dean lays back down and drapes an arm over his lover, pulling Castiel close, kissing his shoulder blade.

 

Dean can't stop dwelling on the previous memory, and isn't going to be able to fall asleep with the love of his life who he's already lost, right here, beside him. Today is one of the good days, he realizes, and he decides to make the most of it. Dean presses his lips to Cas' shoulders, trails kisses along the back of his neck, all the while taking great care to tickle the other man with his overnight scruff.

 

Castiel groans tiredly and begins to shuffle away, but Dean can hear the smile in his voice and it makes him daring.

 

"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine," he sings, just above a whisper. Castiel chuckles. "You make me happy when skies are gray. You'll never know, Cas, how much I love you. Please don't take my angel away."

 

Dean punctuates every stanza with a kiss, then buries his face in Cas' hair and inhales when he finishes the rhyme, taking in the unique smell that can only be described as Cas.

 

"What in the hell am I going to do with you, Dean Winchester?" Cas murmurs before turning over to face his tormentor.

 

"Keep me and love me forever?" Dean suggests in a hushed tone.

 

Castiel looks sad as he reaches up and runs his fingertips along Dean’s jaw. “You know that’s not possible, Dean,” he says. “You’re going to forget me.”

 

“Shut up, Cas, I don’t wanna talk about it anymore.”

 

Cas opens his mouth to say something else, but Dean shushes him, kisses him silent with breathless desperation. Cas turns to jelly against him, and they mold together seamlessly, like they always have. Cas is clutching at Dean’s skin and hair, urging him to reposition, pressing his half-hard cock into Dean’s hip in a silent and not-so-subtle plea to get the morning underway.

 

Dean smiles against Cas’ mouth and obliges, turning them so Dean is hovering over Castiel, nestled between spread thighs. _Right where I belong._ Cas is undulating beneath him, rubbing their bodies together, and it takes Dean no time at all to get hard. He thrusts against Cas, spellbound by the little gasps and deep moans the other man makes while he clutches at the sheets and rakes his fingernails down Dean’s arm.

  
He never expected to be able to do this again - never imagined he would move effortlessly atop Castiel, or to be able to breathe in the other’s breaths, or wrap his hand around both of them like he’s doing now. They move together in the grasp of Dean’s fist, slowly at first, before picking up speed as the silken slide of their leaking cocks seems to intensify the sensation. Cas tilts his hips up, and he’s all but begging to be penetrated, but Dean still can’t get the argument from his last memory out of his head. Cas will just have to live with this.

“Please, Dean,” Cas breathes. “Stop thinking about the way things ended and make love to me. You may never get this chance again.”

 

Somehow a half-full bottle of slick has materialized beside Dean on the bed, and he reaches for it, asking Cas, “How do you even know to say these things to me? I thought I was just reliving all these memories.”

 

Cas props himself up on his elbows and shakes his head as Dean coats his fingers with the stuff to open him up. “It’s not of import. I'm dreaming and we’ll talk about it later,” Castiel says with a determined shake of his head and a shrug, almost like he couldn't be bothered to explain. He looks at Dean’s hand pointedly, then lays back again and spreads himself even further in offering to Dean.

 

Dean leans down to kiss Castiel. He takes his time preparing Cas, slowly working him open and practically bathing in the noises Castiel makes in his ear. The quiet intakes of breath and Cas’ fingers clutching his hair has his cock leaking anew, and Cas is trembling under his mouth at his pulse and his fingers as they stroke his inner walls.

 

“Dean!” Castiel gasps when Dean rubs insistently over his prostate. _“Now, Dean, now. Need you inside me now.”_

 

So Dean obliges, gently sliding one finger out of him at a time before picking the bottle up again and smearing a generous amount of the clear fluid over his length. Cas arches like a cat when Dean finally enters him in one long, slow slide. Being inside Cas feels like coming home.

 

“I love you so much, you idiot,” he whispers frantically, while he waits for Cas to adjust.

 

“I love you, too, Dean, God I always have.” Cas sounds just as wrecked as Dean feels, and he shifts his hips to take Dean even deeper. Dean presses himself closer to Cas. He needs the comfort, needs to know Cas is there. “Come on Dean I need you to move.”

 

So Dean pulls back about half way and rocks forward, and they both shudder. _It feels so right._ In that odd way you never do have a very good concept of time when you're dreaming Dean’s not sure how long it goes on after that. But Dean is sweating, and Castiel is crying out in his Batman voice, chanting Dean’s name like its fucking holy, and Dean _never ever ever_ wants to forget the way Cas’ voice sounds when Dean’s inside him.

 

“You're such an idiot, Cas, you know that?” Dean asks, and he realizes he's crying and he should be mortified by it but he doesn't give a shit. “Why would you erase me Cas why why _why?_ ” He punctuates every word with a long, slow thrust. Castiel feels like Heaven and Hell and Purgatory all rolled into one, and he’s unsure how he’ll ever manage to live his life without this.  “I'm so fucking sorry about what I said that night. I never meant to hurt you - goddammit, can't we just be fucking happy?”

 

“I am happy Dean,” Cas replies, and he's crying too. “I'm happy right now. I've never been happier than this. I'm so sorry I erased you, Dean, I want to remember. I’m so fucking sorry I forgot about us, Dean.” He takes Dean’s face between his his hands and forces him to look him in the eye. “Remember when we used to dance, Dean? Remember it. _Think about it._ ”

 

Before Dean has the chance to ask him what the hell he’s talking about, why he’d bring that up now of all times, Castiel is sinking into the mattress and this dream has suddenly become a nightmare. Dean’s not inside him anymore, but instead scrambling for Cas’ hand or shoulder or fucking hair or _something_ before he is sucked into his mattress completely. Dean can't reach him and Cas is gone again, and Dean is left crying tears of rage into the pillow that smells like Castiel’s shampoo in the bedroom he’ll never see again.

 

When Dean finally sits up he’s not in the bedroom anymore, but standing in the reception hall Sam and Jess had held their wedding reception in three years ago.

 

He’s dancing with Cas? _What the fuck?_

 

There’s a woman’s panicked voice in his head now, shouting **Al, he’s off the map what do I  do? We erased this memory a few years ago and he’s back somehow?**

 

A man’s voice, so cold and quiet it sends a chill down Dean’s spine, and closer than the woman’s had been, says, **Don’t worry about it, Meg. It will be fine.** Dean finds he doesn’t like that voice; he hates the way it chills him to the bones and sends a wave of dread throughout every nerve. He hates that he has no idea why this man’s voice affects him so.

 

The voices in Dean’s head fade and he tightens his hold on Castiel’s waist, listening as Cas hums along to Coltrane while they sway minutely in each other’s arms.

 

“What’s going on, Cas?” he asks in a hushed tone. “Why are we here?”

 

“We’re dancing, Dean,” Castiel sighs. “Can’t you just take things as they come for once and not worry about the whys?”

 

“That’s kinda impossible when you weren’t even here for this, were you? I mean, I thought I danced with Lisa at Sammy’s reception, went home with her and everything.”

 

“You did,” Cas whispers, not removing his cheek from where it rests against Dean’s. “You danced with her and went home with her, and left me crying into your sister-in-law's wedding gown until Gabriel came to pick me up. This... this was the first time that I left you.”

 

“...How many times has this happened to us, Cas?”

 

"This marks the third time," Castiel tells him. "Don't you see, Dean? We will keep doing this - falling in love, breaking up, choosing to forget... And you know as well as I do that we will never learn our lesson."

 

“I’d rather have you in my life for a year at a time than not at all.”

 

Dean’s not quite sure why this revelation is so easy for him to accept. The fact that this has been going on for years now, this cycle of meet, fall in love, fall apart, forget. It feels not only very believable, but almost like he already _knew._

 

"It’s easy to erase someone from your memories " Castiel muses, mostly to himself, "but not from your soul."

 

"That's pretty poetic, Cas," Dean teases into Cas' hair.

 

Cas chuckles, and Dean can hardly hear it; Castiel’s breath just barely teases through his hair and along the shell of his ear. "Don't patronize me, Winchester," he warns, a small grin coloring his voice with affection.

 

"Wouldn't dream of it, sweetheart."

 

Castiel snorts, and his arms pull Dean in closer. "I miss you. I don't want you to go, Dean."

 

 

"I'm not going anywhere," Dean assures him even as he feels himself being pulled away against his will. Lisa Braeden is standing across the room from where they're standing, making eyes at him and giving him the same smile Dean remembers from this night, the one that made him break away from Castiel like he's doing now, and go to her.

 

It’s like he can’t control his body’s movements. He wants to stay with Cas. He doesn’t _want_ to dance with Lisa or sleep with Lisa, but this was how this happened the first time, and Dean still is technically dreaming and reliving his memories - even if he’s already forgotten them, and this is all so fucking confusing and he doesn’t understand. Lisa is there and he’d gone to her three years ago, so he’s obligated to go to her now.

 

"Dean...?" Cas sounds like he can't breathe, like he's on the verge of one of his infamous panic attacks, the ones that only Deans immediate presence can subdue, and Dean finds himself walking backwards, holding his hands up in what he hopes is a comforting gesture.

 

"It'll be okay," he forces out. "I'm so fucking sorry, Cas. I don't know why I'm going to her."

 

Castiel's face is blank and emotionless now. Dean can see the storm brewing behind his eyes as the room goes black, and Dean’s back to standing in his living room with his arms crossed.

 

He's facing off against Cas again, and this is easily the most retarded fight they've ever had, and Dean is so fucking confused and frustrated at the abruptness with which his memories end. Nothing is getting solved, he and Cas never have the chance here to discuss anything important, and he’s constantly left hanging when the memories shift.  

 

"This has to stop, Dean!" Cas is demanding. “Your drinking is starting to get out of control and you need to cut back!"

 

"Or you’ll what?” Dean scoffs drunkenly. “What will you do? Leave me?”

 

"I have done it before, Dean Winchester," Castiel warns. “I am not afraid to do it again. I think this whole thing proves that I can live without you.”

 

“Actually,” Dean rebuts, “I think this whole thing proves that neither of us can live without the other. You said we have done this same exact thing three different times. _Why?_ If you can live without me, _why do we keep coming back to each other?_ ”

 

Cas mumbles something Dean doesn’t understand.

 

“Huh?” he says loudly, prompting Cas to speak up, and say what he needs to say so Dean can hear it.

 

“I said _I should have left well enough alone after Lisa Braeden!_ ” Cas states, still quiet, but with a dangerous intensity.

 

That’s the thing about Castiel, he doesn’t shout, he doesn’t scream to get his point across. He is an oncoming storm, a threat in the distance, until his wrath is right on top of Dean and weighing him down with an odd sense of fear and anticipation and respect. Castiel can command authority like no one Dean’s ever met - but only when his fury is at the forefront of his mind. Cas is scarier than The Hulk when he’s angry.

 

"Oh so _that's_ what this is really about?" Dean laughs. He’s pissed and he’s terrified, and it makes him both brave and stupid. Cas could very well kick his ass if Dean allows this argument to progress much further, and while their arguments have never gotten overly physical in the past, they’re not technically dating anymore, or awake for that matter, so Cas could easily punch him in the mouth and suffer no repercussions. On top of all that, Dean legitimately feels bad for leaving Castiel standing alone in the reception hall, again, but he can't stop the biting words from tumbling out of his mouth. "God, it's over and done with. It was _three years ago,_ Cas! And you didn't even fucking remember it before tonight!"

 

Dean feels almost sick at his own insensitivity, but the words just keep coming, and he's watching Castiel's heart shatter and his demeanor becoming more furious with every syllable.

 

"I had a thing with her before you and I ever met. It was a spur of the moment thing. It meant nothing I swear to God, Cas, but it's not like I can take it back now that it's already happened. Why are you being so over-dramatic about this?"

 

Dean’s just talking because he’s scared, waiting for Cas to snap and turn this physical. Fight or flight instinct hasn’t worked right a day in his life. Dean has won quite a few drunken brawls, but he lost just as many, and he has seen what Castiel can do when he’s pissed. _We need to stop this,_ Dean tells himself.

 

"Oh, I don't know, Dean, maybe because _you fucking cheated on me??_ " Cas snaps, and he's nearly spitting he's so furious. "Do you have any idea how being cheated on feels? At least I never let anyone else fuck me while we were together."

 

"Well isn't that just fuckin' peachy?" Dean spits, narrowing his eyes at the man standing across the room from him. "You're such a fucking saint, Castiel. You've never done anything wrong in your whole goddamn life, have you? Never betrayed anyone? Never gotten your _memories of someone erased just to hurt them?_ "

 

Cas throws his head back and barks out a condescending laugh. "You think I did this to hurt you? Who the fuck do you think you are? I did this, every time, _because_ of you! You broke my fucking heart and didn't even seem to care! You're so fucking arrogant, Dean. I'm glad to be rid of you."

 

That hurts, and with the hurt comes an anger that Dean hasn't felt in a long time, a fire that only Cas can ignite. He’s across the room before he realizes it, and Cas doesn't have time to react before Dean is slamming him against the wall. "If you're so fucking glad to be rid of me you son of a bitch, why are you here crying into my arms and moaning like a whore when I fuck you?! What kind of a man are you?"

 

Cas has their positions switched before Dean even finishes his sentence, and his voice deepens even further, to that gravelly bass that never

fails to have Dean simultaneously terrified and horny as fuck in no time flat.

 

"Are you challenging my masculinity?" Castiel says, and it sounds like a threat. "Are you implying that because I enjoy being on the receiving end sometimes I'm not as tough or manly as you are? Because I recall making you beg to take my dick or my fingers or my tongue or even a fucking plug, or whatever I’d be willing to give you on a number of occasions. You like being split open and filled up even more than I do, and you’re calling me a whore?"

 

Cas nudges Dean's legs apart with his knee, then grinds his thigh against Dean's dick, which is standing at rapt attention within the confines of his jeans. Cas bends down to nip at Dean's pulse. "Hard as a rock," he taunts. He bites Dean's earlobe then growls out, "If you were a woman you'd be dripping for me."

 

Dean shudders into him, murmurs “fuck” as he grasps Castiel’s ass and presses them together to feel Cas’ hardness against his own. Cas’ arm is pinning Dean to the wall, his other hand leaving a thumb-shaped bruise in Dean’s hip, and Dean covers Cas’ mouth with his own. If Cas is looking to reaffirm his masculinity, Dean is happy to give him that. It’s always felt so good when Castiel claims him. Dean can’t deny how very _right_ Castiel is. He loves getting fucked by Cas.

 

Dean works at Cas’ belt, undoing the buckle before sliding the jeans down Castiel’s legs. He palms Cas’ erection through the cotton of his boxers and spreads his own legs wider to accommodate Castiel’s frame. Cas’ hands frantically tug at Dean’s pants, shoving them down along with his own and urging Dean to step out of them. His boxers go next, and then Cas is lifting him up, pushing him even further into the wall and wrapping Dean’s legs around his hips. Three of Cas’ fingers are prying his lips open and Dean takes them in greedily, sucking them and tonguing them and it’s getting sloppy as his saliva runs down Cas’ hand in his attempt to get the fingers wet.

 

Dean releases Castiel’s fingers will a lewd slurp, and then Cas is rubbing circles around his hole, pressing in with one digit when Dean relaxes, and the penetration is glorious. It doesn’t feel like sex generally does in his dreams, all muted and fuzzy around the edges instead of this insane hypersensitivity he’s feeling now. Cas fucks him with his fingers, first one, then two, before pressing in the third, nearly dry now as it catches on Dean's rim and pushes in beside the other two. Dean stretches, opens around the intrusion as Cas spreads his fingers, twists and jabs at Dean’s prostate, and he’s been trying to be quiet when the sensation pulls a groan from his chest that sounds suspiciously like Castiel’s name. There’s a wet spot on the front of Castiel’s boxers where his dick is oozing precome, and Dean suddenly wants to feel the flood of warmth running through him when Cas comes inside him.

 

“Come on Cas,” he grounds out. “I’m beggin’ here. Need you to fuck me.”

 

So Cas pulls his fingers free and Dean barely has time to whimper at the loss and let his ass clench around nothing before Cas shoves into him dry, and _fuck_ if Dean doesn't love it, doesn't revel in the burn of being split open on Cas' cock. "Fuck, Cas," Dean says in a rough voice, "so good. So big, Cas, Jesus fucking  _Christ_ I forgot how this feels."

 

There’s a split second, before Castiel begins pounding into him, where Dean has a moment of clarity. _Why does it always lead here?_ Why is it that from the very beginning, his relationship with Cas has been this neverending cycle of _fuck, fight, fuck, cuddle, fuck, fight, fuck,_ and on and on and on? It’s like a carousel they can never seem to get off of, and Dean has a sneaking suspicion that they could work so well together if they could learn to communicate verbally rather than physically. If they could learn to talk their problems out rather than just fuck them away, then just maybe this would stop happening.

 

Then Cas begins to move inside him, and Dean forgets his epiphany under the onslaught of sensation.

 

Cas moves his hands to Dean’s hips, pulls him down with every upward thrust, his fingernails digging into Dean's flesh and leaving crescent shaped indents in his thighs. Cas' cock is like a homing missile, zeroed in on Dean's sweet spot and making him see shapes and colors that weren’t there a second ago. Dean's hands are scrambling for purchase, clawing at Cas' shoulder and hair and even the wall behind him. He can't get a sure grip on anything, and Castiel is rough and relentless as he drives into Dean.

 

There's a light sheen of sweat on Cas face where his brow is furrowed in concentration. The look on his face is intense, like he's caught between the effort of holding Dean up and the feeling of Dean's muscles fluttering around his dick. "You like that, Winchester?" Castiel says in his ear, his voice coming out like gravel."I'll bet Lisa Braeden never fucked you like this, did she?"

 

"No one's ever fucked me like you Cas," Dean admits on a moan.

 

It doesn't take long after that. Cas gets his hand between their bodies and takes hold of Dean's cock. He strips it like making Dean come is a race to the finish line. Cas goes rigid the same time Dean does, and they release together. Cas is filling him up, and the warm swell of liquid rises up in him in waves of emotions he'd forgotten about. He soaks Cas' hand and both their t-shirts as he empties himself between them, chanting _"Cas, Cas, Cas,"_ like it's a goddamn prayer.

 

They're kissing by the time he finishes, panting into each other's mouths during the comedown. Dean’s surroundings are going black again. He feels like he may pass out, and it can only mean one thing.

 

“Where are we going now, Cas?” he sighs.

 

“Somewhere good,” Castiel answers cryptically, gently pulling out and setting Dean back on his feet.

 

Cas is right. Next thing Dean knows he’s sitting poolside with Cas on the cruise ship they’d hopped this past July. He’s sipping a pina colada and smiling drunkenly at Castiel as he swirls his own half-melted margarita around in his glass. They’re laughing about something, Dean can’t quite remember what anymore, and Castiel is wearing those silly aviator sunglasses and a goofy grin that splits his face nearly in half. They’re facing the water, watching the smooth surface sparkle under the sun. Dean thinks a few times that he can see dolphins coming up for oxygen before diving back down before he can even blink. It can’t be later than one in the afternoon, but they’re both sloshed and happy, and being far too affectionate for their own good. Dean’s reaching across his beach chair to poke Cas in the ribs and Cas is playfully slapping his hand away. They’re like a couple of kindergarteners teasing each other on the playground.

 

“I miss this so much, Cas,” Dean breathes. “Why can’t I just relive this entire week and wake up feeling giddy and happy and wishing it was summer again?”

 

“Because that’s not how this works,” Castiel shrugs. “When you wake up you’ll feel drained and miserable, like you didn’t get a wink of sleep.”

 

“More importantly,” Dean begins cautiously, “how are you even here? How do you remember all this?”

 

“It’s hard to explain...” Cas says. “Have you ever heard of the concept of soul mates sharing a heaven?” Dean nods. “This is kind of like that. You were there when my memories were erased, too, but you were just angry and sad the whole time. You refused to interact with me besides picking a fight during every single scene.”

 

“Scene?”

 

“The memories, they played like scenes in a movie for me. I watched from the sidelines, both detached from the situation and right in the midst of it, and you watched with me, making snide comments and criticizing my every decision. It was hell. This is much more enjoyable.”

 

“But why do you remember all this?” Dean asks again. "Are you even real?"

 

“Because our subconscious remembers everything, I guess?” Cas shrugs. “I’m not sure. But yes, Dean, I am very real.”

 

“Is there any way to stop it?” Dean wants to know. "Any way to remember once we wake up?"

 

“Not that I’ve found.”

 

Dean sighs and lets his head rest against the high back of his beach chair. He reaches out to Cas, trails his fingertips over Cas’ knuckles and wrist, looking out at the endless expanse of blue, cloudless sky. “So now what?” he asks quietly.

 

“I don’t know,” Cas replies, his body mimicking Dean’s as he stares straight ahead, squinting against the midday sun from behind his shades. He laces their fingers together. “Guess we just make the best of the time we have left here together?”

 

“And how do you suggest we do that?” Dean grins.

 

“Well,” Castiel says in return, the corners of his mouth turning up into that small, gentle smile that makes Dean weak in the knees, “dinner’s not for another...” he trails off, glancing at his watch, “five hours. So we could either go back up to the bar and get more drinks, or we could go back to our room and take a... ‘power nap,’ for lack of a better term.”

 

“So our choices are ‘get more drunk’ and ‘go back to our room and fuck like rabbits’?” Dean clarifies.

 

“Basically,” Cas nods. “Or both,” he suggests as an afterthought.

 

“Both is good,” Dean decides, and after each knocking back a shot at the poolside bar and retrieving yet another frozen drink from the bartender, they stumble back to their room, all giddy smiles and wandering hands.

 

By the time Dean pushes Cas against the door to their room, they’re both struggling to not spill their drinks, kissing and rutting against each other, and groaning into each other’s mouths as Castiel searches the deep pockets of Dean’s cargo shorts for the key card. Cas slips the key into the lock and the door swings open, Dean and Cas nearly falling on top of each other in their drunkenness, and Castiel’s laugh is loud. The way his eyes crinkle at the corners is beautiful, and Dean can’t tear his gaze away. He’s never been more in love with Castiel as he is in this very moment.

 

 _Please Crowley,_ he pleads in his own head. _Please let me keep this memory. Just this one._

  
Even as Dean is trying to bargain with a man who can’t see him or hear him, who is probably in his own bed at home while his latest patient is begging to keep his memories, the room is going dark, and Cas’ laugh sounds muffled now. Dean is trying to hold on as best he can, but he knows there’s nothing he can do as Castiel pushes him back onto the massive bed and straddles his hips. Cas’ smile has faded and he’s looking down at Dean with a sad look in his eye as the room turns black and Dean is reaching out for nothing.


	2. ii.

**ii.**

 

Cas isn't in Dean’s next memory. Instead he's alone in the Impala, driving home from Lacuna Inc., and there's a mixtape that Castiel made for him in the tape deck and he's crying like a baby over a stupid song that he’s only ever listened to because of Castiel. He’s furious at himself for acting this way, slams the heel of his hand against the steering wheel in his rage, considers driving into oncoming traffic. He’s shouting incoherently out the window, doesn’t know if he’s more pissed at himself now that this process is underway, or at Castiel for doing it first. Now that he knows what he knows, that this has been going on for _years,_ he somehow feels even worse about it; he somehow feels even worse about himself.

 

"Fuck fuck _fuck!!_ "

 

 _There has to be something I can do,_ he reasons silently with himself. There has to be a way to throw the techs that are in his head off. He's diverted from their path once already, inexplicably remembering the night of Sam's wedding as it had actually happened; it stands to reason that if he and Cas can somehow get off their map again - into a memory Cas shouldn't be in at all - the techs shouldn't be able to find them and they can try to remember when they both wake up, in separate rooms on opposite sides of the city.

 

The question Dean has to ask himself now is _how?_ The last time it happened, all Cas had to do was casually remind him of dancing, and when Dean had opened his eyes, they were dancing at Sam and Jess’ wedding reception. So it should stand to reason that they can jump wherever they want to, so long as Dean is thinking about a specific situation.

 

 _Remember when we used to dance, Dean?_ Castiel asked him.

 

They danced all the time. Days off, when they weren't fighting, they danced. In Cas' living room to ancient vinyls on his vintage record player, because the dude always had a soft spot for the golden oldies. They danced in Dean's tiny kitchen to Meat Loaf (not that Dean would admit it) while they cooked dinner, because they were both tipsy on beer or red wine and knew all the words. Kissing and dancing has always gone hand in hand. Whether their mouths never left one another, both of them smiling against the other's lips, or pulling back every twenty seconds to listen to each other's laughs and off-tune crooning (mostly from Dean, honestly - Cas always had a beautiful singing voice) only to bring their mouths back together, dancing meant kissing.

 

The taste of Castiel's lips is something Dean's sure he will never be able to forget, Lacuna Inc. or no. The feeling of Cas' arms around him, his own arms around Cas, he's desperate to hold on those memories. He never should have done this, should have never let Crowley and Naomi and Meg and Al into his head. He should have never given them access to these memories, and now he's made a decision to remember.

 

Dean allows himself some recklessness, and releases his steering wheel from his white-knuckled grip and let's the car drift over into the middle lane of the freeway, then the fast lane, and his foot is heavy on the gas pedal. The speedometer inches its way up past seventy, eighty... As he breaks a hundred miles an hour, Dean's heart is pounding. There’s a panic settling low in his gut at the thought that _maybe this is too much, too dangerous,_ but the Impala's tires hit the grass median before he can right the wheel. And he's flipping. The crunch of the Impala’s body and frame being crushed sets his nerves on edge, the sound of her windows being shattered is all too loud and quiet at the same time, and Dean's head smacks into the driver's side window on a particularly strong impact. The last thing he hears before he blacks out is the low warble of the mixtape in his tape deck. There’s a man's voice singing out lyrics that Cas had sung so beautifully in his ear while Dean drifted off to sleep in Castiel's arms, once upon a time, years ago now it seems:

 

_We will run and scream, you will dance with me, they’ll fulfill our dreams and we’ll be free._

 

"Hello, Dean," says a voice in Dean's ear, not nearly deep enough but unmistakably Cas, and it's full of fondness and amusement.

 

When Dean opens his eyes he's standing in the gymnasium of the high school he dropped out of, and he and Cas are dancing. Castiel's favorite band is playing at the front of the room, singing that same song Dean had just been hearing in the car. They're teenagers, and Dean is _absolutely mortified._ He's had this dream before, because he's secretly a fucking sap, and he hadn't intended to come here of all places to get off the Lacuna Inc. technicians' radar, but it's a damn good dream and neither of them will remember it in the morning. So Dean just rolls with it. He pulls this miniature Castiel tighter against him and tells Cas, "Shut up and dance with me."

 

Cas, for whatever reason, accepts it. He melts into Deans embrace, his arms going slack where they rest around Dean’s neck, and he buries his face in Dean's hair.

 

"This is beautiful," he says quietly against Deans temple after one song ends and another starts up, "but prom? You're such a cheese."

 

"Shut up," Dean chuckles in return. "I dropped out before I had the chance to go to prom, and yeah it's kinda corny or whatever, but I always kinda regretted it I guess." He shrugs, and he let's his hands roam up Cas' slender sides, allowing himself to indulge a little in something he hadn't dared to in the other dreams. Castiel is so young, but then so is Dean here. That makes the fantasy okay, right? And Cas is still Cas, his Cas, but smaller, a little softer, with a little more give beneath the skin where Dean's used to feeling lean, sinuous muscle.

 

Cas seems to understand where this is headed, and grabs Dean's forearms before his hands can roam too far down his back, and he pulls away slightly to look at Dean.

 

"How did you do this?" He asks, not a hint of suspicion in his voice, just baffled curiosity.

 

"I'm not too sure," Dean admits. "I've been here before a few times, dreamt about it, but I was trying to decide how to slip under the tech's radar, blacked out and came here." He's sure to leave out the part where he let the Impala crash to initiate said blackout.

 

"You don't even like this band," Cas accuses, gesturing to the front of the room, his voice lighthearted and there's a twinkle in those gorgeous blue eyes that Dean hasn’t seen in what feels like a decade.

 

"Maybe subconsciously I _really do._ " Dean finds himself swaying in time to the songs he had no idea he knew so well, like they've been imprinted into him, much like Castiel has. Dean's no expert on spiritual experiences (besides the time he dropped acid and played The Wizard of Oz and The Dark Side of the Moon at the same time), but he's sure this is what one feels like. Dancing with Castiel to music he's done nothing but criticize, music that is suddenly so inexplicably moving because he's understanding the lyrics like Cas does. He's never felt this close to Cas before, more intimate than even their most debauched and dirty nights together. Like he's in Cas' fucking soul or something.

 

Cas is humming along to the music, the soft curve of his lips turning up in a content smile, his eyes falling closed as he feels the melody and the lyrics, and Dean can't stop staring. Cas is so young, so handsome, looking so very dapper in his black tuxedo and blue bowtie.

 

"God, you're cute," Dean observes quietly.

 

"You're not so bad yourself," Cas replies. "You look like you could be in twink porn with those pouty lips and that boyish grin."

 

"You're such a creep," Dean laughs.

 

"I wasn't the one trying to fondle."

 

Dean brushes his lips against the shell of Cas' ear as he leans in and whispers, "Don't act like you don't wanna. You're basically pubescent. You've got that near-constant low-grade arousal that comes with being a teenager." He breathes deep, taking in Cas' scent. "I can practically smell it on you."

 

Cas shoves at Dean's shoulder and sputters out a denial, his face flushed with embarrassment.

 

"Does everything have to be dirty with you?" He asks quietly.

 

"You make me wanna be dirty, Cas," Dean tells him, just as quiet, as he pulls Cas into his chest to continue swaying to the music playing at the front of the room. Dean’s hands go back to roaming, sliding down Castiel’s ribs and flank until they’re resting, squeezing and kneading, on Cas’ pert butt, which is years younger than he’s used to it being. “The things I would do to this ass...” he chuckles.

 

“Dean enough,” Cas says, and the tone in his voice is slightly panicked, enough so to give Dean pause. “Have you looked around? Have you looked at anyone else here? _None of them have faces, Dean._ ”

 

Dean looks up, and sure enough all the other prom-goers in this dream are faceless,with  just a canvas of bare skin where their facial features should be. They’ve never been that way before, and it’s a little unsettling to say the least. One of them, a girl with dark hair that Dean's sure he'd be able to recognize if she _had a fucking face,_ turns toward them and starts walking toward Cas.

 

**"Hiding is a little bit childish, don’t you think?”**

 

Dean can't be sure if the voice is in his head or if it's coming from the girl with no face approaching them on unsteady legs, but he knows that voice. He remembers her from Lacuna Inc., in that room with the mementos and the device around his head. He opens his mouth to say something but Cas beats him to it.

 

"Meg?" He asks, baffled, like he can't figure out why she's there, and Dean's struck with a sudden wave of jealousy and possessiveness that he can't tap out no matter how he tries.

 

 **"Awh, did you miss me, Clarence?"** She responds mockingly, then bites out a laugh. **"Why don't you tell Dean-o here what you've been doing with all your free time since you erased him?"**

 

Cas' eyes grow wide and his vision darts from Dean to the blank slate of skin where Meg's face should be and back again. He has that petrified look in his eye that never fails to launch Dean into protector mode. He steps in front of Cas and laces their fingers together, tugs the boy by the hand and shouts "Cas, come on, run!" and they're running at full speed from the faceless prom-goers until Dean slams face-first into a cement wall he’s absolutely positive wasn’t there a split second ago. He changes directions, racing against his own mind and Meg and Alastair's prodding around in his memories.

 

 **“Keep them running,”** Alastair’s voice instructs from somewhere else. **“They’ll wind up somewhere where I can find them eventually.”**

 

Everything around them is dark except the endless wall of white cement directly to their right. Dean's not sure how long they run, only that they stay parallel to the wall the whole time, even as their surroundings begin to get blacker and blacker and blacker. In a last ditch effort, Dean heads toward a big wooden door that he can just barely make out in the thick and all-consuming blackness, but if they can get to it in time then Dean's sure they won't be able to erase that dream.

 

"We're almost there, angel, I got you," Dean says. He's nearly out of breath and he's not even sure if he can make it to the door himself, and Cas is beginning to slow down. "You can do it, buddy, come on."

 

But Cas - his Cas instead of the teenage illusion - can't do it, can't run anymore, because the tendrils of blackness are swallowing him up again and the terror is evident in his eyes as the blackness creeps down his arms like inky tentacles, wrapping around Castiel’s wrists and forcing him to slacken his grip on Dean. Slowly it envelops him, winding around his neck and torso and limbs the same way a python binds its prey. All the while, Dean is whispering, "It's okay, Cas, I'm here, I'll see you in the next memory," as the black consumes Castiel completely and he is no more than a blank spot on Dean’s failing memories.

 

Dean's pulling himself together and making a beeline for that big wooden door before he even registers it, and when he finally reaches it and yanks the door open, he's met with blinding morning light in shining rays of blue and purple and green as the stained glass windows of the church bend and color the springtime sunlight. He finds himself standing next to Castiel, both of them wearing crisp suits with pastel-colored ties knotted tightly against their throats, while a Priest is chanting hymns from the pulpit at the front of the church.

 

"Happy Easter," Cas remarks, almost sarcastic, like nothing could surprise him anymore.

 

Castiel’s brothers, Michael and Gabriel, are standing on Cas’ other side. Michael has his wife and two young daughters in tow, while Gabriel stands on his own beside Cas in the pew with a sucker hanging out of his mouth. Cas is a nervous wreck beside Dean, because he knows what’s going to happen directly after Easter Mass. Dean takes his hand and squeezes as a reminder that he’s here, that Cas won’t have to face this memory on his own.

 

When the time for communion comes Cas begins to follow his brothers out of the pew to join the queue to the head of the church, but Michael shoots a dirty look over his shoulder at Cas, a silent order for him to stay put. Cas sighs and returns to his place beside Dean, laces his fingers with Dean's, and waits. Dean can practically hear Castiel's nervous heartbeat, and it makes him sad, because he knows how much this past Easter fucked Cas up, and now the poor guy has to be reminded of it again. Gabriel and Michael return a short time later, sliding into the pew and kneeling before bowing their heads in reverent prayer. Gabriel offers Cas a sympathetic smile around his sucker, and Cas simply shrugs at him. _Go figure,_ it means, _you know Michael._ He then bows his own head and mouths a few grateful words to a God Dean knows Cas has lost all faith in.

 

The closing prayer is said shortly after, then the congregation is finally dismissed. Michael sends his wife and girls out to wait in the car, and then turns a judgmental eye on his youngest brother. "Well I for one am amazed that you had the nerve to even show up, let alone attempt to take a sacrament you hardly deserve," Michael says, almost casually, as though he's not effectively blowing out the flame of his baby brother's self-worth with every word that leaves his lips.

 

"Michael, that's not fair," Gabriel interjects, cutting off any kind of response Cas might have. "Cassie's our brother, and if you're going to judge him and tell him he doesn't deserve to take communion for something he has no control over -"

 

But Michael cuts him off. "I won't call him my brother as long as he indulges in his perversion."

 

"Falling in love is not a perversion, Michael!" Castiel argues in a hushed tone. "Just because I happened to fall in love with a man instead of a woman, it doesn't make me any less of a Catholic or any less your brother!"

 

"You engage in sodomy, Castiel!" Michael counters loudly. People are beginning to stare. "Leviticus states clearly that a man lying with another man is an abomination! _You_ are an abomination."

 

"And any woman who's no longer a virgin when she marries shall be stoned to death," Castiel reminds his brother. His voice is shaking as he adds, "when will we be stoning your wife?"

 

"That is _out of line,_ Castiel," Michael says warningly.

 

"There's something in Leviticus about not marking your body or throwing pig skin, too," Gabriel adds. "Does that mean you're gonna kick me out of the family for having a tattoo, or stop coming over on Thanksgiving to watch football? You can't pick and choose which passages of Scripture are still relevant."

 

Michael turns his nose up in disgust. "Maybe not, but I won't have a faggot for a brother. Do you really want to be kicked out of the family like Luca?”

 

“That’s different, Michael, and you know it,” Castiel insists. “I’m not a Catholic priest embezzling money from my congregation! Luca made his mistakes. He’s been defrocked and excommunicated from the Church, as well as stripped of the family name and put in prison for what he’s done. Luca is paying for his sins and his crimes. I do not deserve to be compared to him for something that is out of my control.”

 

Castiel’s voice is growing louder and louder, and the people still milling around the chapel have begun to stop and watch the feud, whispering to one another. Dean hears words like _faggot_ and _cock-sucker_ being tossed around.

 

It's then that Dean feels the need to speak up, to save himself from the awkwardness of the situation as well as defend Cas. "Look, I'm no expert on religion here -"

 

"Clearly," Michael interjects, but Dean talks over him.

 

"- but I do know that Jesus preached tolerance and acceptance, and he hung out with twelve dudes and a hooker, so maybe he's more like Cas and me than you thought."

 

 _"Dean!"_ Cas hisses, whipping his head around to shoot Dean a chastising look. "That's blasphemous!"

 

"And I'm not Catholic," Dean points out.

 

Michael makes a sound of disgust as he turns away. "Dad is probably rolling in his grave right now, Castiel. Think about your choices and stay away from my family until you get your head back on straight. I can't have a pervert like you around my girls."

 

With that said, Michael makes his way to the church vestibule to take his family home, leaving Cas shaking with anxiety, while Dean runs soothing circles over his back.

 

“Hey, Cassie, it’s alright, man,” Gabriel says, doing his best to comfort his brother. “I’ll talk to Michael and he’ll be fine. This’ll all blow over, okay? Don’t let him get to you. Dad was a drunken buffoon, sure, but he knew about your preferences and he didn’t fucking care, Cassie. He’s not spinning in his grave. I’m actually about a hundred percent sure he’d be proud as hell of you for sticking up to that bag of dicks.”

 

Cas is gulping down lungfuls of air, trembling, clearly on the verge of a panic attack as he nods at Gabriel and lets Dean take his hand and guide him into the vestibule and out of the church, away from the judgmental eyes on all three of them. Dean feels like a leper, wants to snap at every single person staring at them and pushing Cas that much closer to the edge of panic, but he’s sure the last thing Cas needs is someone shouting, even if it is to protect him. So instead, Dean puts a comforting arm around Castiel and leads him outside into the late morning sun. Cas visibly relaxes when faced with the cool air and open space of the chapel’s courtyard. He leads Dean to a stone bench, the same one they sat at the first time this happened, and thanks him.

 

“You didn’t have to cut in like that,” Cas says, and it’s not a chastisement, but quiet gratitude. Maybe Cas is a little ashamed of his brother, even though he would never admit it.

 

“Yeah I know I didn’t have to,” Dean says, and he doesn’t remove his arm from where it rests across Cas’ shoulders. “But what kinda boyfriend would I be if I just let that big-headed bigot talk to you that way?”

 

Cas chuckles, and neither of them mentions that Dean's technically no longer Cas' boyfriend, but they’re so far off the script at this point this is basically an entirely new memory they’ll both just wind up forgetting. Hell, they are still lovers here.

 

"This is crazy," Dean chuckles quietly. Cas tilts his head and gives Dean that squinty-eyed look that says he doesn't quite understand. "I mean, I never thought... I'm not quite sure how to explain what's goin' on in my head. It's just - here I am after everything we've been through, trying to do right by you and trying to make everything okay between us but it's pointless, isn't it? We'll both wake up tomorrow morning in our own beds, alone, and we won't remember any of this, or each other for that matter. This is crazy," he repeats with a shake of his head.

 

"It is crazy" Castiel agrees quietly. "But it does matter to me, Dean. I'm grateful that you're trying so hard. I think we both know that a true long term relationship will never work for the two of us. You always end up hating me in the end."

 

“How is that even possible?” Dean asks, frustrated. “I like everything about you, Cas. Sure, there are things I have to deal with that I’m not so much a fan of, but I can’t see anything I don’t like about you!”

 

“But you will!” Cas argues in return, folding Dean’s hands in his own. “You will think of things. And I’ll get bored and feel trapped because that’s what happens to me. We’re...” Cas hesitates. “We are too different from one another.” It’s starting to sound like a proper breakup, and Dean’s beginning to ache, because he can’t lose Cas. Cas smiles sadly. “We’ve been through much together, you and I... there is something I should tell you, Dean. I’ve been seeing someone.”

 

And just like that Dean can’t breathe. Everything is going black again, and when Dean looks back up at Castiel, he is faceless like Meg and the prom-goers were in his fantasy. “Cas!” he chokes out. “ _Cas who??_ Who is he? Do I know him? Come on, Cas, _answer me!_ You can’t just drop a bomb like that as everything’s shifting!”

 

Dean is still clutching Cas’ hands in his own, but the darker his surroundings get the less he can see of Cas. Castiel’s hands begin to crumble like brittle rocks beneath his own. Dean’s throat feels tight, his heart is threatening to burst from his chest, and no matter how he begs, Cas is becoming sand. From the top of his head to his shoulders and hands and knees, Cas seems to be blowing away in the breeze. Dean tries to hold on to him, but Cas just slips through his fingers, rough and grainy to the touch. He tries to shout again, “Cas! _Castiel, say something!_ ” but he finds he can’t speak, can hardly even breathe.

 

For the first time since this began, Dean is hopeless. He lets the wave of black wash over him, and allows himself to forget this because he is powerless to stop it.

 


	3. iii.

**iii.**

****

 

Dean is blinking against the harsh midday sun that’s beating down on him and Cas from overhead. It’s late summer and they’re laying on a boating dock with their heads right beside one another, legs sprawled in opposite directions. Cas is wearing those ridiculous sunglasses again and he has an first-edition, leather-bound copy of Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse-Five lying open beside him, the lake breeze flipping the pages as Castiel pushes himself to his side to plant a kiss on Dean’s cheek. Dean’s fishing pole and tackle box sit forgotten by his fold-up chair.

 

“You’re seeing someone?” Dean asks in a gruff voice. He’s trying desperately to sound casual, like he doesn’t care, but Cas is in his head, his soul, and there’s no way in hell he can’t see right past all that to the jealousy boiling in his veins.

 

“I am,” Cas confirms in a whisper. “She’s hard on me, pushes me through the anxiety a lot of times. Maybe she’s the kind of person I need.”

 

“Cas you had zero interest in women when we met,” Dean says, shaking his head.

 

“That’s not true,” Cas replies. “I just don’t prefer women. Meg is... Meg is different as far as women go.”

 

“Meg,” Dean repeats. “As in Lacuna Inc., Meg?”

 

Cas nods. “She calls me Clarence, and she likes to dress up like a nurse when we-”

 

_“Enough,”_ Dean barks, standing up and walking back to his chair and fishing pole. He goes through the motions of baiting the hook, casting out, and reeling in the slack before Castiel joins him, standing in his swim trunks beside Dean’s chair. Dean ignores him, keeps his eyes instead on the red and white bobber floating on the surface of the lake. Cas sighs and places his hand on Dean’s shoulder.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he means it. “When she and I began seeing each other, I didn’t know it would hurt you. I didn’t even know who you _were,_ Dean. She showed up at the record store the day after I’d gotten the procedure done and asked me out. She’s beautiful and I was feeling empty for reasons I didn’t understand. Now that I know she’s one of the technicians who performed the procedure I’m feeling like I was manipulated. I don’t like it.”

 

Dean merely grunts in response. He’s still sour over it, and Castiel’s apology isn’t going to change all that so quickly.

 

“Dean I mean it,” Cas says with conviction. He slides into Dean’s lap, one leg on either side and his face right in front of Dean’s. The legs of his shorts are spread and open, and it’s obscene the way Dean’s able to look down and see everything Cas has to offer, everything that Meg is getting now instead of him. The muscles in Cas’ thighs are pulled taut, his dick flaccid against his leg, his balls heavy like he hasn’t come in days. Dean’s mouth is watering for it, and he has to physically stop his fingers from creeping up the shorts. The urge just to touch is so strong he aches with it, but Castiel is no longer his to touch. He’s with Meg now, and she is the only one with the right to touch him.

 

“Meg doesn’t own my body,” Cas says like he’s been inside Dean’s head this whole time, and who knows, maybe he has. Cas grinds his ass down onto Dean’s lap. “My body belongs to you, Dean, it always has. You have every right to touch what’s yours.”

 

So Dean does, tentatively at first. His fingers edge around the hem of the swim shorts, tease the skin just beneath it, and Dean watches in awe as Castiel begins to harden and his length pulls the material at the front of the shorts tight. His cockhead is perfectly outlined, and he’s fucking _leaking_ for Dean, and there’s no way Dean can say no when Cas looks so fuckin’ desperate for him. So against his better judgment Dean rids Cas of the swim shorts and quickly spreads him open on his fingers.

 

Castiel is flushed and panting by the time Dean presses inside him, his head thrown back and his fingernails digging into the meat of Dean’s shoulders. Cas rides him like a goddamn pro, rolling his hips and clenching his ass around Dean’s cock like it’s going to swallow the fuckin’ thing whole. Dean feels like he’s on fire, and every nerve under his skin is electrically charged, sending about a thousand volts through his veins every single time his skin makes contact with Cas’.

 

It’s quick and dirty, and Dean’s thighs are beginning to burn with the effort he’s putting behind each thrust. Cas is crying out at the top of his lungs, his voice carrying across the lake and echoing back from whatever’s over there to bounce it back to them. Cas has tried to grab his dick about twenty times, but Dean slaps his hand away every time, telling Cas, _No I want you to fuckin’ come like this,_ and _I’ll bet Meg can’t make you come untouched can she?_ And when Dean gets ballsy and demands to know who Castiel belongs to, Cas’ entire body locks up as he shouts, “Dean!” as he releases between them.

 

A moan gets stuck in Dean’s throat as Cas clamps down around him through his orgasm. The sensation sends Dean over the edge and for one wild, blissful moment they’re climaxing together. The comedown is spent trembling through the aftershocks in one another’s arms and kissing like they’re starved for it.

 

“I love you, Dean,” Cas murmurs. “I’m sorry about Meg, and I swear to God I’m going to call her and break it off as soon as I wake up.”

 

“Don’t do it if she makes you happy,” Dean tells him. “We’ll find each other again eventually.”

 

Cas nods. “We keep meeting at the wrong time. That’s what I’ve been telling myself anyway. Maybe one day, years from now, we’ll meet in a coffee shop in some faraway city, and we can give it another shot.”

 

“I’m willing to do this exact same thing over and over again until we get it right,” Dean says. “You’re worth it, Cas.”

 

Castiel smiles at him, and before Dean has a chance to stop it Cas is vanishing like smoke. He’s becoming the air around Dean, and Dean can only watch as Castiel disappears once again, slipping through Dean’s fingers as Dean reaches for him. This time, though, Dean stays here instead of blacking out and finding himself someplace else. He reels the fishing line in. The nightcrawler that was on his hook is gone, stolen from a fish during Dean and Castiel's passion, so Dean re-baits the line and throws it back out.

 

He’s just beginning to relax and give himself over to the monotony of fishing, alone with his thoughts for the first time since this whole mess began, when the world begins to tilt and darken once more. He has no time to think before he feels himself being tugged downward, like he’s been hooked by his own line. Darker, darker, darker, and Dean’s being enveloped by the blackness again. He finds himself wishing Cas wouldn’t smoke out every time this happened, so he could have Castiel with him. Cas is a comfort, Cas is his rock.

 

_Stupid,_ he thinks. _I’m so stupid for thinking this would be okay._

 

The sun goes out then, and Dean is completely and utterly alone.

 

Dean registers the smell of cinnamon and pine before he opens his eyes, can hear his brother and Jess laughing just a few feet away from him as Castiel coos at the baby seated in Jess’ lap. When Dean does finally open his eyes, he’s seated in his brother’s living room beside Cas, all four of them sipping eggnog and wearing hideous sweaters covered in snowmen and stockings and Christmas trees in front of a gigantic actual Christmas tree strung with popcorn tinsel and strings of white lights.

 

Beneath the tree are brightly-wrapped presents; a few for Dean, a few for Castiel, some for Sam, and Jess. Most of the gifts, though, are there for Lily. The little girl’s barely eight months old and she’s made out like a bandit on her first Christmas. Her dad’s prestigious job at the law firm and her mom’s budding fashion line (it caters to rich, adorable wives of prosecuting attorneys or something like that. Dean’s no fashion expert) have made it possible. Cas can’t get enough of her. He smiles at Lily and makes silly faces at her, listens to her squealing laugh and returns it with a quiet chuckle of his own. Dean remembers thinking about how much Cas would excel as a father, remembers wishing something like that could be possible for them. The adoption process is long and grueling, though, and somehow Dean knew then that their relationship wouldn’t stand that test of time.

 

Dean’s so caught up in this memory, in watching Cas and the baby interact, he almost doesn’t hear Sam proclaim that it’s time for gifts before Lily lays down for her nap. Lily gets so many toys and clothes it’s unreal. She has absolutely no interest, just gurgles happily when presented with the new things before testing each and every gift on her new teeth. Jess opens Lily’s gift from Dean and Cas, and Sam smiles when he sees the pretty yellow cardigan with the bumblebee buttons Castiel had picked out for her.

 

Once Lily’s gifts are unwrapped and the excitement is over, the baby’s tuckered out, and Cas offers to take her up to her room and lay her down. Sam and Jess are grateful for the break, and Dean joins Cas in climbing the stairs to Lily’s nursery. She’s cradled in Castiel’s arms, and Dean is humming quietly to her, the same way his mom used to do for him.

 

“Are you humming _Hey, Jude_?” Cas asks in a whisper.

 

“Yeah,” Dean nods. “My mom used to sing it to me when I was a kid.”

 

Cas just hums in response and continues watching Lily with stars in his eyes. “It’s a shame I won’t be around to watch her grow up...”

 

“Don’t say that, Cas,” Dean gently admonishes. Cas’ words are like a knife in the gut. It’s true Cas won’t be able to watch Lily as she grows, but to be reminded of what he’s doing to them just hurts. “I’m sorry I was never able to give you this, Cas. A family of your own, the two of us raising a baby and being parents. You’d be such an amazing father, Cas.”

 

Castiel chuckles. “I don’t know about all that.” He pushes Lily’s door open and gently lays her in the crib, then cranks the mobile above her head and hums along to the melody as he tucks the blanket around her sleeping form. “I would be a nervous parent, too overprotective. I would rather be the favorite uncle. Sleep tight, honeybee,” he whispers as he leans over the side of the crib to kiss Lily’s forehead.

 

“Whatever, Cas, you’d be an awesome dad,” Dean smiles. “Just look at how much you care about Lily. And she’s not even blood.”

 

“Just because she’s not blood doesn’t mean she isn’t family,” Castiel reminds him. “She’s my niece. She always will be, even after all this is over.”

 

For a while, they stay in the nursery. They watch Lily’s deep breathing, snickering at the way she sighs when she moves and the way she immediately kicks her blanket off to stretch out and take up the majority of her crib.

 

“Just like her dad,” Dean remarks with a shake of his head.

 

“You’d be a good father, too, you know,” Cas tells him. “You practically raised your brother on your own.”

 

“Yeah, but I can’t kick the shit out of my own kid like I did with Sammy when he got out of line.”

 

“Well that’s true,” Castiel agrees, that soft smile lighting up his face. “We should get downstairs. There are still more presents to open.”

 

Downstairs, Sam is playing Santa, arranging gifts on the floor in front of their respective recipients, and Jess is in the den pouring more glasses of eggnog. She comes back with a tray lined with drinks and distributes them. The way her blonde curls bounce and the dimples in her cheeks deepen when she smiles at them makes her look every bit the hostess she’s meant to be. She takes her seat beside Sam and flips her curls over her shoulder before taking a deep drink from her glass. They’ve all had enough to have them feeling loose and happy, but not enough to make any one of them sloppy or stupid, or in Dean’s case, insensitive. Sam presents Jess with his gift to her, a small box wrapped it golden paper, and her eyes light up at the robin’s egg blue box the wrapping covers. Dean watches the two of them, Jess with her dimpled smile and Sam with his stupid, lovestruck grin as Jess gasps her delighted astonishment at the Tiffany’s diamond earrings Sam probably spent an arm and a leg on.

 

They kiss and everyone moves on. Dean opens a massive box from his brother and Jess that holds a bunch of rocks - "Very mature, Sam," Dean laughs - and an envelope containing two tickets to a Led Zeppelin tribute band, and Castiel receives a gift certificate to his favorite burger joint.

 

“It’s not much...” Cas says to Dean as he passes him two small, colorfully wrapped gifts, and Dean already knows what he’ll encounter as he tears off the wrapping paper. A mixtape that Cas made for him (full of songs Dean had never heard before Castiel came into his life, songs he now knows by heart), with a track list and lyrics printed in Castiel’s neat handwriting, and a new watch, an exact replica of the one he’d worn until its untimely end this past year.

 

Dean turns the mixtape over in his hands a few times. This thing is the soundtrack of their relationship from Cas’ perspective. Every track on this seemingly innocuous cassette is important to Cas, speaks to him in a different way about Dean. Side A is filled with unconditional love and affection and pleasant memories, while side B is somewhat darker, highlighting the dysfunction in their relationship. There’s one song on side B, one set of lyrics, that Castiel underlined on his track list - _And I feel like I’m naked in front of a crowd, ‘cause these words are my diary screaming out loud._ Cas always told him that he’s not very good at expressing himself with his own words, so he likes to let poetry and lyrics do his speaking for him. The mixtape Dean’s holding is proof of that, and Dean hopes beyond hope that his memory will be strong enough after all is said and done to be able to recall the lyrics of these twenty songs, if for no other reason than to keep a piece of Castiel within him always.

 

“Thanks, Cas,” he says, planting a kiss on the other man’s temple and sliding his own colorfully wrapped gift over to him. “It’s not much.”

 

Cas gives him a look, carefully peels back the paper to reveal a small white box. Sam says something about good things and small packages, but Dean isn’t listening; he’s watching the tears well up in Cas’ eyes as he pulls the key out of the box. Cas already knows what the key is to, obviously, but for some reason there are rules here, so he says the same thing he’d said when this happened the first time.

 

“...Dean, is this...?”

 

“I saw you eyeballing that ancient pickup at the garage,” Dean explains. “So I bought it, painted it and restored it, and now she’s yours. She runs real well, Cas, and I think you’ll really like the color I picked. Brand new white leather interior and everything. She's mint," he smiles.

 

Cas kisses him on the cheek, but then the look on his face changes. He looks sorrowful.

 

“But why?” Castiel asks. “Even on Christmas, you knew. You knew we weren’t going to last, you knew you didn’t love me the way you did in the beginning. So why spend this much time and money on a Christmas gift for someone you didn’t love.”

 

The walls of Sam’s house are starting to splinter and fall, piece by piece. Sam and Jess are faceless and Dean and Castiel are alone.

 

“Why would you even bring that up now?” Dean asks. He’s angry, the feeling of betrayal at Cas’ ungratefulness boiling in his veins. He did a great thing for Cas, restored this truck and brought her back to her former glory - brought her back to life - and Cas is sitting here fucking questioning his motives. “And for that matter, why would you think even for a minute that I didn’t love you? Yes, by Christmas we were falling apart, but that does not mean I stopped loving you!”

 

“Did you even listen to that mixtape once after I left, Dean, or did you toss it out the window of the Impala the very next day?” Castiel asks, his voice a mix of accusation and despair.

 

“I still have it, you dumbass!” Dean retaliates. “I’ve been listening to it every second of every goddamn day to figure out if I’ve missed something, as if the songs could give me a clue or something - a way to get you back. Even when Lacuna, Inc. told me to bring everything that could be associated with memories of you, I couldn’t give them that. This mixtape is all I have left of you, Cas, and It’s my favorite thing in the world, okay? I know every song by heart, and it’s the only goddamn thing in my life that has any fucking worth anymore. Don’t you dare accuse me of not appreciating something you put time and effort into making for me!”

 

The walls are still crumpling, the very foundation of Sam’s house turning to ash before Dean’s eyes. Cas’ eyes are panicked, yet Dean can’t find any sympathy for him. They’re up and running from the imminent shift in memories before the room can go completely black, Castiel in the lead and dragging Dean along by his wrist.

 

The more they run, the more apparent it becomes to Dean that they are running through the memories, places they’d been together. They run down city streets, through the labor day parade they’d attended in the fall together. People are vanishing right before their eyes, just popping out of existence, as they bolt through the farmer’s market Cas had dragged Dean to. _Did you know there are, like, five hundred types of tomatoes?_ he remembers saying to his brother on the phone later that day. Sam laughed at him, commented that Castiel is certainly having a positive influence on him. They’re running through Cas’ front yard now, where Cas watered his garden in the spring, while Dean changed the Impala’s oil and gave her a good wash and wax with the radio cranked up and a cooler of beer beside the fender. He’d sprayed Cas with the hose while he wasn’t looking, and it sparked an epic water battle that left them both drenched and breathless from laughter.

 

These were the good times, all the wonderful experiences Dean and Castiel shared in their year together. Dean is feeling nostalgic watching all these memories pass him by as they try to escape the cloud of black forgetfulness. They come to a screeching halt when faced with the disastrous dinner party they’d thrown for Halloween with Gabriel and Sam and Jess. They’re all in costume, Sam’s face painted greenish-gray with bolts glued to his neck, and Jess has done something with her hair to make it stick straight out and back. They’re the perfect Frankenstein couple, with a bumblebee for a daughter. Castiel had cooed and grinned at her for forever when they’d first shown up, calling her the cutest honeybee in town.

 

Now, Dean and Castiel are frozen in shock and horror, watching Frankenstein’s monster and his wife, Gabriel in his elaborate angel costume (apparently a Gabriel tradition for going on five years now, according to Cas) and Dean and Castiel themselves dressed as Batman and an extremely resentful Robin as the group sits around Castiel’s dining room table chatting and having drinks. Lily is sleeping soundly in the portable swing Sam and Jess have set up for her in the next room, and Castiel is talking endlessly about the history of Halloween, about the pagan holiday of Samhain and how people used to dress up as ghosts and ghouls to disguise themselves from the actual ghosts and ghouls that were said to walk the streets on All Hallows Eve.

 

Sam and Jess are listening intently, because Jess is polite and because Sam is a nerd who actually cares about stuff like that. Dean and Gabriel are rolling their eyes at one another across the table, Gabriel because he’s probably heard the history about a million times since they were kids and Dean because he couldn’t really care less about the history of a holiday that, in his opinion, is good for one thing and one thing only - candy.

 

So Dean watches as this memory plays on, like a scene in a movie.

 

“Yeah, that’s nice, Cas,” Dean hears himself slur from his seat. “Only thing Halloween’s good for is candy. Who cares about the history?”

 

Castiel fixes his eyes on Dean and says, “Intelligent input, dear, why don’t you just have another beer then?” Cas’ voice is nearly dripping with inebriated sarcasm and annoyance.

 

Dean gapes at him, Sam shifts and clears his throat, slightly uncomfortable, and Gabriel leans into Jess’ personal space and whispers, “They fight just like real people.”

 

“You’re such a condescending dick,” Dream-Dean says to Dream-Cas with a shake of his head.

 

“Well maybe if you hadn’t been such a drunken idiot,” the real Cas mutters from beside Dean.

 

The wave of black has caught up to them now, and it’s time to run again. They run through Cas’ living room where Dean and Castiel are shouting at each other, still in their costumes, after everyone left that night. Cas is saying, “You don’t have to care about every little thing I say, Dean, but you don’t have to broadcast that you don’t give a shit! You really embarrassed me!”

 

“Get off my back, Cas!” Dean is shouting back. “You know I don’t have a filter when I’ve been drinking.”

 

“So maybe you shouldn’t drink as much,” Cas says offhandedly, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest.

 

“I’m a grown-ass man, and you’re not my mother!” Dean retaliates as a black cloud rolls over the images.

 

When they come to a stop again, they're back at Lacuna Inc. The lights are off, and there's no one there. Castiel is suddenly fearful, clutching to Dean as they make their way down darkened corridors to peek inside various offices.

 

"Why are we here?" Cas asks.

 

"No idea."

 

So they keep moving, maneuvering themselves down hallways, in and out of office spaces, into the staff break room, and there's no one, nothing. Naomi's office is lit as they approach it, and Cas is muttering, "No we shouldn't go in there" as Dean pushes the door open. Naomi is seated in her desk chair, with a male figure sitting in the chair opposite, much like Dean had been when this entire nightmare first began. But this time it's not Dean in the chair.

 

"Cas," Dean breathes, "is that you? Why? How? _...What?_ "

 

"Somehow we've been catapulted into one of my memories," Castiel says quietly. "I'm not sure why or how, but I am pretty sure we can hide from the techs as long as we're here. Though I'd really rather not," he adds.

 

"Tell me about Dean," Naomi is saying from her place behind the desk.

 

"He's the most emotionally constipated individual I have ever met," the Cas in the chair says with conviction.

 

"Gee, thanks, Cas," Dean mutters good-naturedly.

 

"Listen, Dean," Cas says in a panic. "I didn't mean anything I said here, okay? I was bitter and resentful towards you when I did this, and I'm sorry in advance for the things you're about to hear."

 

"You don't have to apologize, Cas," Dean tells him. Castiel just sighs and leans back against the wall to watch the scene unfold before their eyes.

 

"Go on," Naomi urges.

 

"Too many people think I'm a concept," Castiel states. "That I 'complete them' or that I'm going to make them feel alive. But that's not what I am. I'm just a fucked-up human being who's looking for my own peace of mind. I don't need an over-grown adolescent like Dean Winchester assigning me his peace of mind as well."

 

"Ouch," Dean remarks, and Castiel is flushed bright red, his ears practically shining with it.

 

"Shut up, Dean."

 

“I’m just not the long term relationship type, I guess,” the image of Castiel says, sitting with his back straight and his hands folded in his lap.

 

“You seem to have given this a lot of thought, Castiel,” Naomi declares, mimicking Cas and folding her hands on her desk.

 

It looks like a business meeting, not the emotional mess of a meeting Dean expected, like the emotional mess of a meeting Dean himself had shared with Naomi. Dean’s growing uncomfortable, and so is Cas, but still they just keep watching Castiel’s meeting at Lacuna Inc., watching Cas commit to erasing Dean from his memory yet again.

 

“I have,” Cas says. “A friend of mine came to you a few months ago, and he seemed so happy afterwards, almost blissful after his breakup. I’ve been watching Dean drift even further away, and I’ve been feeling trapped, so last night’s argument was easily the best thing that could have happened. He doesn’t understand me, and perhaps he never could, so now I’m out and I want to forget. I’ve had your phone number stashed away since before Christmas.”

 

Dean turns to Cas. “You did?”

 

Cas nods. “I needed a backup plan.”

 

“What do you want to forget, Castiel?” Naomi prompts.

 

“I want to forget the way he brushed me off for his own interests, his car and his Dr. Sexy MD show,” Cas tells her. “I want to forget the way it felt when he was physically there but mentally somewhere else. I want to forget how he didn’t appreciate me the way I deserved…” Castiel’s voice is beginning to tremble.

 

“What will you miss?” Naomi asks.

 

“I’ll miss the way he held me while we slept, while we danced,” Cas says, his voice full of the emotions Dean initially expected. “His laugh, the way he puts his entire body into it when something I’ve said is very funny. I’ll miss the way he looked at me when he was actually paying attention to me, when he wasn’t looking right through me.”

 

“I never looked right through you, Cas,” Dean insists to the man beside him.

 

“You did, Dean,” Cas says. “You did it all the time.”

 

“Why do you want to forget?” Naomi continues.

 

“Because he is a drug I cannot put down until I don’t know he exists.”

 

In the next blink it’s Dean sitting in the chair, and Naomi is asking him, “What do you want to forget?”

 

“I wanna forget the look of disappointment on his face when I said and did all those fucked up things. I want to forget letting someone else in my life down the way I let down Sammy and my dad. I want to forget losing him.”

 

“You didn’t let me down, Dean,” Castiel says quietly from beside him. “My expectations for you weren’t that high to begin with. Like I said, I’m not the long term relationship type.”

 

“Neither am I, Cas!” Dean practically shouts. “But I wanted to fucking make it work with you! I never stopped loving you! Not once, not even after Easter when you sulked for three months about Michael until we went on that cruise in July! I did all these things for you _because I love you,_ because I hated seeing you like that. And I never looked through you, Cas. Just because I didn’t look at you with the same intensity you looked at me didn’t mean I wasn’t looking at you or noticing you. You’ve always been important to me, Cas. Why would you ever doubt that?”

 

“Why do you want to forget?” Naomi is asking the Dean seated in the chair.

 

“Because I’ll never be able to move on while I know he’s still out there, while I know that he doesn’t remember us,” he answers.

 

“God dammit,” Dean mutters, because dense black smoke is moving in, and it has Meg’s voice teasing them, Run, Forrest, run! The smoke, the black cloud that somehow cleanses their minds and makes them spotless, memoryless, engulfs them both, drags them under into oblivion.

 


	4. iv.

**iv.**

They almost fall stumbling over the threshold to Cas' apartment. Dean can't seem to pry his lips away from Castiel's for long enough to let him get the key in the lock and the door open. Cas is leaning drunkenly against it when it finally gives, and then they're giggling like teenage girls into each other's mouths in the entryway as Cas hooks his fingers in Dean's belt loop and guides them to his bedroom.

 

They peel one another's clothes off slowly, starting with Dean's flannel and Cas' trench coat that's as much a part of him as it is a security blanket. Dean moves on to loosening Castiel's tie, and Cas struggles with Dean's t-shirt. All the while the kissing never stops. They're licking into each other's mouths, nipping at lips and tongues like starved animals. Cas is rutting against Dean's hip and making these beautiful breathy little sounds he only ever makes when he's drunk and without inhibitions. Cas abandons the t-shirt in favor of cupping Dean's jaw, sliding his fingers down and back and through the sensitive hairs just above the back of Dean's neck. Dean unbuttons Cas' dress shirt as quickly as his fingers will let him, then strips his own shirt to get them skin-to-skin at last. Castiel's chest is already slick with sweat, goosebumps rising everywhere Dean's fingertips touch. He pinches one of Cas' nipples and watches him toss his head back on a quiet groan and bite his lip before sucking at Dean's pulse.

 

Cas' hands move down to fumble awkwardly at Dean's pants, pulling the button free and sliding the zipper down with shaky fingers.

 

"Calm down," Dean murmurs. "What's the hurry?"

 

“We’ll never do this again,” Cas tells him quickly. “Forgive me for being nervous and wanting it to be perfect.” His voice is practically dripping with sarcasm.

 

Dean stills Cas’ hands. “There’s no rush,” he says quietly. “When have either of us ever enjoyed quickies?”

 

“Quickies suck,” Cas concedes with a grin and a shrug, letting his fingertips tease the strip of skin just below the waistband of Dean’s boxers.

 

When they kiss again, it’s without all the urgency from before. Dean’s fingers card through Castiel’s hair, making it stick up all over like he’s just rolled out of bed, and Cas’ hand is cupping the base of Dean’s skull to hold him steady. They’re pressed together from lips to chest to groin, and Dean can feel Castiel’s heart trying to make a break for it beneath his ribs. The hand not currently cradling Dean’s head is fixed to his shoulder. Cas’ hand is _hot,_ as if he’s attempting to burn himself into Dean’s skin. Then both hands slide down and long fingers hook into the waistband of Dean’s jeans and boxers. Cas slowly pushes them down, over Dean’s hips, and his erection bobs free as the denim falls to the floor in a pool around his feet.

 

Castiel tears his lips away from Dean’s. “Tell me you love me,” he breathes as Dean’s mouth descends to his jaw and presses open-mouth kisses along the column of his throat.

 

“I love you,” Dean tells him, before licking a stripe up Cas’ neck and working to unbuckle his belt and push his too-big black slacks to the floor. Cas’ dick is straining against the cotton of his briefs and leaking heavily, leaving a sticky wet spot on the front and Cas’ chest is heaving with the effort to take in oxygen and his eyes are blown wide, a thin strip of blue surrounding glazed and dilated pupils. He’s nearly shaking with arousal, and Dean feels a twinge of pride to know he can reduce Castiel to this trembling and incoherent mass of undeniable _need._

 

Dean drops to his knees with as much grace as he can muster, traces the cut of Cas’ hip bones with his tongue, sucks a bruise into the patch of skin just beneath his navel. Cas’ hand is clenched in Dean’s hair, trying to guide his head to the feverish arousal between Cas’ legs. Dean drags the flat of his tongue up the front of Castiel’s briefs. Cas’ grip on his hair tightens, his growl of “Fucking Christ, Dean” is cut off halfway through when Dean scrapes his teeth along the cotton covering his shaft. He mouths at the head of Cas' cock, tastes the salty bitterness of the precome that's staining Cas' black briefs, moans around the heaviness of his balls against his tongue. Cas echoes him, rolling his hips into Dean's mouth to encourage him to do more.

 

Dean's hands move from where they're holding Cas' hips somewhat steady to his flank. His fingernails scrape down Castiel's sides, angry red lines rising in their wake, and he curves his fingertips into the waistband of his underwear to drag them down over the swell of Cas' ass. He kneads the skin there, speading Cas' cheeks to expose his hole to open air. He can see the way it twitches from memory, from every lewd fantasy he's had in the past month. Dean has the sudden overwhelming urge to lick him there, to spear Castiel open on his tongue, feel the muscles flutter around it, taste him again.

 

"Dean," Castiel gasps when Dean's finger teases over his hole. "Bed, go to the bed. Get on your hands and knees." Dean responds by scraping his teeth over the sensitive spot just below Cas' cockhead and wincing when Cas heaves him up by his hair and shoves him across the room toward the bed. Castiel's voice is wrecked as he looks in Dean's eyes and orders him, _"Now."_

 

So Dean makes a show of climbing atop the mattress and assuming the position. He moves slowly, watches Cas' gaze zero in on him in that intense way that has always made Dean shiver. Castiel's eyes seem to see and take in every little detail of Dean at once, picking him apart piece by piece. From the black socks still on his feet to his bowed legs as they spread to expose Dean to ever-watchful eyes. Cas watches the curve of Dean’s back as he lowers his chest to the bed, watches Dean's hand reach up to tug at his balls and press a finger to that sensitive spot just behind.

 

Cas moves closer, and Dean's eyes follow him. They analyze his body the same way Castiel does to him. Cas' hand absently runs across his chest and over his nipples, then down to press against his dick and relieve some of the aching pressure, and the motion makes the tip peek out over the waistband of Cas' underwear. The head is red and shiny, glistening with the precome still occasionally blurting from the slit. Dean's mouth is watering for it again. He wants to feel Cas on his tongue and down his throat, but Cas is keeping the briefs on for some reason, still tugged down to expose the muscles of his asscheeks. Dean can't quite figure out through the haze of arousal why Cas is kneeling behind him until he feels strong hands grasp his upper thighs and spread Dean open even further, and he wants to stifle the groan that's working its way up his throat but he can't, and he can just hear how wanton and desperate he sounds but all modesty has been thrown out the window at this point and he doesn't even fucking care anymore.

 

The first swipe of Cas' tongue over his asshole has Dean clawing at the sheets and biting the inside of his cheek in an effort to keep quiet. It doesn't work. The tip of Cas' tongue flicks over his rim and it punches a loud moan out of him. Dean would normally be pissed that Cas practically plucked this idea right out of his head, but he really can't deny how much of a slut he is for it. Cas' tongue is like fucking magic the way it twists and jabs and opens him up so perfectly. Dean pushes back, unable to help it, and Cas just fucking _goes with it,_ his hands gripping Dean a little tighter as he pushes into it. Cas' deep groan resonates through him and has Dean all but vibrating from the inside.

 

Castiel's hand slides up to the swell of Dean's ass, and then his thumb is rubbing circles over Dean's hole with the barest amount of pressure. Dean opens to the digit on instinct, taking the tip just far enough inside for Cas' thumb to hold him slightly open. Cas' tongue darts over his rim again, pokes and prods just barely into him, and Dean can't think at all, it's too much and not enough all at once. Dean wants to cry in frustration and beg Cas to _stop, keep going, fuck me **please,**_ but he cannot find words through the garbled nonsense he's been moaning for what feels like a fucking eternity.

 

It's not until two fingers slide in alongside Cas' thumb that Dean realizes Castiel's other hand has left his leg to focus instead on his ass, and even then the thought is pushed to the back of Dean's mind in favor of just reveling in the feeling of Castiel inside him again, taking him apart at an agonizing pace. Castiel's tongue joins the digits buried inside him, skating over his stretched hole where Cas' fingers are knuckle-deep and beginning to fucking _move_ inside. Dean's shudder escapes him in a trembling exhale, and he feels goosebumps beginning to rise on his sweat-dampened back as Cas' fingers slowly fuck in and out of him, crooking just so on the pull-back to graze Dean's prostate and make him cry out into the pillow he's taken to biting down on.

 

This is where Cas never fails to come out of his shell. In the bedroom he’s so confident it’s stupid, like he was put on this planet to make Dean see colors he never even knew existed. Castiel's mouth begins to travel, blazing a hot trail from his perineum down to lap and mouth at Dean’s balls before he licks a sloppy stripe right back up to his asshole. Dean's thighs tremble beneath the onslaught, and he’s unsure how he’s still able to support his weight with Cas’ tongue and fingers hitting all the right spots. And Cas is just _moaning_ into Dean’s ass like he’s eating a goddamn feast, and the sound is reverberating all through Dean’s body and setting his nerves on fire.

 

“Cas, Jesus,” Dean breathes, pressing back into that wicked tongue and thrusting fingers while he tears at the sheets in an ill-fated attempt to keep himself from coming apart at the seams. “Cas, fuck man, you gotta stop or I’m gonna come.”

 

And just like that Dean finds himself on his back staring up at Castiel as he hovers over him. Cas’ face is like a wild animal’s. He’s a predator studying the prey sprawled helpless beneath him, a cat toying with a mouse before the kill. Dean’s thrumming with anticipation and everything else fades away except for himself and Castiel.

 

"How do you want it, Dean?" Cas asks softly.

 

"Like this." It's the only answer Dean can give. He wants to be able to see Castiel's face, wants to watch Cas watch himself slide in and out of Dean, wants to see him positively undone before they both forget what this is like.

 

So Cas nods, slicks himself up with a bottle of lube that has once again materialized beside them on the bed, and chokes out, "Hold your legs up," before guiding his cock forward and pressing the tip to Dean's rim.

 

There's no pain as Cas enters him, only heat where they're connected. It creeps up Dean's body and he can feel the flush moving up his neck to paint his cheeks pink. It has a similar effect on Cas. The tips of his ears are burning red and his chest and neck are splotchy as his breath gets caught in his throat and comes out as a shaky exhale. Dean arches, rolls his hips to take Cas deeper, and they share a deep groan as Castiel slides home. Cas’ breath is coming in quick, short gasps, his arms struggling to hold his upper body in position where it hovers unsteadily over Dean’s prone form. He is pinned beneath Castiel, split open on him, claimed by him.

 

When Cas finally moves, Dean undulates with him, and they’re in perfect unison once more. Dean rolls his hips upward as Castiel thrusts in, his cock becoming trapped between them and sliding through the thin layer of sweat they’re both coated with. “Cas,” he breathes, gripping the other man’s hip and pulling him in closer. Cas leans down to take Dean’s lips in a bruising kiss, pressing past plump lips with his tongue to taste and explore. Dean’s moaning into Cas’ mouth, catching Cas’ bottom lip between his teeth and sucking hard. Cas groans, and Dean feels his cock twitch where it’s buried inside him. “Yeah, Cas,” he says, and it comes out as a deep growl directly in Castiel’s ear. “Come on, angel, fuck me like you mean it.”

 

So Cas sits back and bends Dean practically in half so he can watch himself, pulls back slowly until just the head of his cock is still inside, and slams forward. Dean arches and cries out, completely against his will, and it only spurs Cas forward. He picks up an almost brutal pace, gripping Dean’s thighs with strong hands and pulling him into every harsh thrust. Dean’s voice is a mess of curses and shouts and choruses of Castiel’s name. Cas drops his legs, guides them around his waist, and hoists Dean into his lap by his hips. The angle’s a little strange, and neither of them have very much leverage for thrusting, but they’re so close to one another. Dean’s breathing in Castiel’s every breath, watching his eyes as they slide shut when Dean clenches around his dick. He can see Cas’ pulse pounding in his neck, feels the dampness of Cas’ hair where he’s been sweating. Cas kisses him then, gently opens Dean’s mouth with his own, and brushes against Dean’s prostate when he shifts. Dean’s whole body locks up, his muscles fluttering around Cas’ erection, and they share a groan as Cas twitches and swells even further inside him.

 

They stay like that for a while, breathing and moaning against one another’s parted lips, close enough to feel each other’s erratic heartbeats beneath their ribs.

 

“I love you, Dean,” Cas whispers.

 

“Love you, too, Cas. Always have.”

 

“Are you ready to wake up?”

 

“No,” Dean says.

 

“You’re gonna have to,” Cas responds. “You can’t stay here forever. The technicians are finishing up right now. This is the last memory they’re erasing, our first time. When you wake up, Dean, get dressed and go to the diner. Order apple pie and look for me. Look for the truck. I’ll be there, I’ll bring Vonnegut.” Cas’ arms snake around his waist, pull Dean into his chest, and Dean’s hands bury themselves in Cas’ hair. Castiel’s head finds its way into the space between Dean’s neck and shoulder, his hips grinding up as Dean grinds his ass down. “Remember me, Dean, and if you can’t remember, then fall in love with me all over again. Let’s do it right this time, Dean.”

 

Their lovemaking has slowed to a near torturous pace, sweat-slicked chests sliding together and hands gripping flesh wherever they can latch on. It’s intense this way, sensual and intimate in a way Dean’s not used to. Cas reaches his limit first. He stills and groans, trembles as he climaxes and rakes his fingers down Dean’s arms. Dean feels himself crest and spill between them shortly after, his breathing harsh and labored through the comedown. Cas is kissing him, lips passing over his neck and jaw until Dean can’t take it anymore and claims Cas’ lips with his own.

 

“I need you,” he’s murmuring to Castiel. “I need you, Cas. We can do it right this time, can’t we? We can make it work.”

 

Cas kisses him one last time before simply vanishing from beneath him. The last thing Dean sees before waking is Castiel’s soft smile and shining blue eyes.

 

***

 

Dean wakes to a pounding headache brought on by harsh winter-morning sunlight and a sticky wetness in the front of his sleep pants.

 

“Fuck,” he groans tiredly, covering his face with his arm. His apartment is ungodly cold, but for some reason he’s sweating like he’s just run a marathon. If the mess in his boxers is anything to go by, he’d been having a hell of a dream when he’d been awoken by - what? The sun? The sudden, intense craving for pie? The panic that he’s another year older? Either way, it doesn’t matter. He _is_ another year older, and he _does_ have a sudden and intense craving for gooey, freshly baked apple pie, so Dean figures _what the hell_ and swings his legs over the side of his bed (that feels inexplicably empty) to shower and head down to the diner over on 5th. Their apple pie is the best in the city (by Dean’s standards, anyway; some people prefer the diner on 9th, but they use too much cinnamon), and everyone deserves to spoil themselves on their birthday.

 

So after a shower and slight indecisiveness in the bathroom mirror over whether to shave or leave the scruff, Dean’s razor is put away unused and he walks back to his bedroom to throw some clothes on. Dean goes through the cluttered mess of his bedroom, picking up various articles of clothing and inspecting them for any visible stains or unpleasant odors. Once he settles on something he deems _good enough,_ Dean slides his legs into his jeans and picks off the dog hair from his tee shirt (Sam’s golden retriever thinks she’s a lapdog) and he’s ready for a slice of birthday pie. Somewhere in the back of his mind Dean feels like he should be sharing this with someone, that something is missing. He can’t seem to figure out what it could possibly be, chalks it up to getting older, but still that thought of If only I could meet someone new lingers at the back of his mind.

 

The purr of the Impala is enough to put his mind momentarily at ease. He takes care of her, gets her through the freezing cold winters with barely a single issue. She heats up quick and Dean adjusts the radio, calls his brother laughing when Sammy’s _all time favorite song_ comes on the radio. Sam grumbles good-naturedly when Dean claims, “But Sammy, you love Asia!" and sings the chorus loudly into his cell phone. Before Sam hangs up, they have their plan for meeting up at the Roadhouse later and Sam makes Dean promise not to do anything stupid.

 

As Dean punches the End button on his phone, one song on the radio fades into another, and Dean is tempted to change the station, because Journey is so not his scene, but for some reason the lyrics are making him slightly emotional and he’s not sure why. He feels like this song in particular has some kind of association with someone in his life - someone important. He has a fleeting image of blue eyes and a quiet smile, and it’s as if the memory or whatever it is is from some other lifetime; it has Dean a little unnerved as he pulls into the near-empty parking lot of his favorite diner. There’s an old 1940’s Studebaker pickup truck parked near the back of the lot, and Dean can’t help his low whistle of appreciation at the thought of getting underneath that hood, changing the oil in it and polishing the chrome grill (and if he’s salivating all over the fenders and white wall tires then that’s his business).

 

He parks beside the truck and gets out of his own car to give the Studebaker a real good once-over before heading inside for his pie. The paint job is new, the chrome is restored, and the owner obviously put some good money into his ride to have it looking this nice in the middle of winter.

 

“Like what you see?” asks a deep voice behind Dean, and for some reason the tone of that voice makes his stomach do that weird flutter that teenage girls associate with butterflies. Dean turns to find a guy, a really hot guy, barely shorter than himself with messy dark hair and the bluest eyes Dean has ever seen.

 

“Yeah, she’s - wow,” Dean says intelligently. “What year is she?”

 

“‘44,” the guy replies. “But it’s not a she. I call him Vonnegut.” He leans against the hood, looking very much the part of classic car collector. “What about yours? ‘67 Impala?”

 

“Yup,” Dean grins, running his hand over Baby’s hood and mimicking the other guy’s stance against his car. “My dad signed her over to me on my eighteenth birthday, I’ve had her for exactly sixteen years now. She’s reliable,” he remarks, comfortable discussing cars with the hot guy he happened to meet at the diner. “I’m, uh, I’m going in to get a slice of pie. You wanna join me, discuss cars? Maybe see my back seat later?”

 

The guy looks slightly taken aback for a minute, possibly even shocked, and Dean worries for a split second he’d maybe been too forward, but then the other guy smiles and shoots back, “I’m sorry, was that a flirtation? You really need to work on your pickup lines.”

 

Dean would normally be deterred by that kind of almost-rebuff, but the way those blue eyes are looking him over, picking him apart it seems like, Dean thinks maybe he wasn’t too far off his mark. “Dean Winchester,” he says, by way of introduction, offering his hand to the guy.

 

“Castiel Novak,” He returns. “It’s nice to meet you, Dean. I’m not sure if you’re smooth enough to get me in your back seat just yet, though, so don’t get your hopes up.”

 

Dean doesn’t plan to get his hopes up. He’s just happy to have broken the ice, to have gotten this really gorgeous guy to agree to sit and have a piece of pie with him and talk cars. But, yeah, it would certainly be a bonus to watch this Cas guy come completely undone in the backseat of his car.

 

Or in the bed of Castiel’s pickup, or on Dean’s couch or bed or kitchen table, or Cas’ washing machine or bed or hell, even against the guy’s front door.

 

The possibilities here are endless.

 

So they talk. They talk and get to know each other over what probably averages out to an entire pie (or maybe two) and at least three pots of coffee, if the way Dean’s knee won’t stop bouncing is any indication. Castiel takes his coffee black and his apple pie a la mode, and Dean can’t help but smile. They talk about their cars and their families, and somewhere along the way, the topic of _today feels fucking weird_ somehow comes up. Castiel brings up his strange dream that for the life of him he cannot seem to remember now, but he calls it _profound._ That’s when the flashes start happening; it’s almost as if Dean is seeing glimpses of a past life, like he had when he was pulling into the parking lot, that vision of cerulean eyes and a gentle smile, like the eyes locked on him now from across the table, and the smile of Castiel’s that just barely tips the corners of his lips up. He can’t see any full faces in these memory flashes of his, just brief impressions of residual emotions - hope and faith and guilt and need and desire... it’s terrifying. He’s not quite sure how, but this guy, this _Castiel_ with his weird name and three brothers and dead parents and the ‘44 Studebaker Dean’s _sure_ he’s seen somewhere before - he’s lighting up something within Dean that he’s unsure if he’s ready for.

 

“It feels as though...” Castiel continues, somewhat hesitantly, “it feels as though I’ve had my memories erased or something. I cannot seem to remember who gave me the truck for Christmas, or how I spent my last birthday, or why Michael isn’t speaking to me.”

 

Christmas and birthdays and the name Michael all strike a chord in Dean and it’s frustrating and scary and he can’t seem to remember this past Christmas either. He knows he spent it with Sam and Jess and the new baby, but deep down he knows someone else was with him as well. Someone who carried Lily to her nursery and called her _honeybee_ while Dean hummed The Beatles.

 

“I’m sorry,” Castiel chuckles, shaking his head. “This must sound completely crazy to you.”

 

“No!” Dean insists. “No I get it, I really do. Today’s my birthday, and it hasn’t felt right all day. I’d initially just brushed it off as getting older, but now... I dunno, it’s like... it’s like I’m supposed to be spending today with someone. Like I need to remember something big that I’ve somehow forgotten about. Like my memories have been erased.”

 

“But not all your memories,” Cas agrees. “Certain memories.”

 

“Memories of someone,” Dean finishes for him.

 

It all begins clicking into place then; Castiel’s eyes are shining with recognition, and it’s taking every ounce of Dean’s self control to not launch himself over the booth to kiss Castiel stupid.

 

“Cas,” he breathes, and he realizes he’s grinning.

 

“Dean,” Castiel responds, just as breathless. “It’s you I’m supposed to remember, isn’t it?”

 

“I can’t be sure. You’re so familiar, though, I have no idea how it could be anyone else.”

 

“I knew it,” Cas laughs. “I fucking knew it as soon as I saw you! That smug grin and the way you walk, it’s ingrained into me. You can erase someone from your mind, but getting them out of your soul is another story entirely.”

 

“I still don’t remember, though, Cas,” Dean admits. “I don’t remember you or what we went through or why we forgot.”

 

“Neither do I, Dean, but don’t you see? This is a second chance, a chance to do it right!”

 

“But how do we do it right when we don’t even know what went wrong the first time?” Dean wants to know.

 

“That’s the beauty of it,” Cas smiles. “It’s a literal second chance; this is our opportunity to figure out what it was that went wrong, whether it be an issue of family or fidelity or fear or faith, we’re going to figure it out. We need to be honest and open with one another, and not live in fear and the what if mentality. Fuck the what ifs, Dean.”

 

“I could say the same to you, Cas,” Dean says quietly. “Fuck the what ifs, Cas, it’s always been you who has a problem with that. Your anxiety and paranoia cannot rule your life. I know it’s an illness and you’re not able to control it and that’s fine. But I’m gonna need you to be open and honest with me when you’re uncomfortable or scared or feel like you’re about to panic, okay?”

 

Castiel looks dumbfounded, and Dean realizes why about the same time Cas opens his mouth and asks, “How did you know...?”

 

“Guess you’re right about getting someone out of your soul,” he shrugs.

 

“What a shame, though,” Castiel remarks, “to spend that much time with someone only to have them become a stranger.”

 

“We’re not strangers,” Dean insists. “We just... forgot. My brother’s treating me to drinks tonight at the Roadhouse. It’s a birthday tradition. Do you wanna come have drinks?”

 

“Of course,” Castiel smiles.

 

 _We’ll learn,_ Dean thinks as Castiel’s hand grazes the back of his own. _We’ll make it work. Come hell or high water, we **will** get it right this time._

 


	5. epilogue.

**epilogue.**

**  
**

It’s been six years.

**  
**

Dean wakes on his fortieth birthday to Castiel humming the Happy Birthday song to him while their six month old daughter gurgles and squeals in delight to her dad’s song. Dean stretches out and sits up, takes Mary and cradles her in his arms, laying kisses across her cheeks and forehead. She grins at him and Dean sees the tiniest white cap of a first tooth peeking through her gums.

**  
**

“This is new,” he smiles at Cas as he takes a seat on the edge of the bed.

**  
**

“Mmm,” Cas agrees. “Good morning, Dean. Wait until you see what Gabe’s ordered for your birthday.”

**  
**

“Bastard actually had the buzzards set up in the yard, didn’t he?”

**  
**

“He did,” Cas confirms. “No need to worry, I’ll be killing him with my bare hands this afternoon when he shows up for the party. The guys who set up the signs may have destroyed my lawn.”

**  
**

“Cas, it’s January, you don’t have lawn,” Dean tells him.

**  
**

“True though that may be,” Cas says, “it’s still an eyesore.”

**  
**

Dean hooks his arm around Cas' neck and pulls him in for a long, languorous kiss. Mary giggles in his arms and makes kissy faces at the both of them until they both shower her cheeks with loud, smacking kisses. Cas takes Mary back and motions to the bedside table, where a cup of coffee and a slice of Cas’ homemade apple pie are sitting on a tray waiting for Dean. Cas and Mary head downstairs, presumably to finish getting the house set up for Dean’s early birthday dinner this afternoon, leaving Dean to enjoy his birthday pie and coffee in relative peace.

**  
**

He is definitely getting older and wiser, the wrinkles around his eyes and across his forehead growing more pronounced with each passing week it seems. He’s beginning to gray around his temples, and Cas insists it makes him look sophisticated, but Dean knows it’s merely more proof that he’s no longer got the youth and vitality he did when he and Cas first met - again. It’s been a long hard road, full of twists and turns and fleeting thoughts that they may not last, but their determination and perseverance came through for them, and they came out on the other side of their rough patches stronger than they went in.

**  
**

Dean’s become the most sickening little domestic bug, king of DIY home repairs and grill master extraordinaire. Bobby passed a few years back from a stroke, and left Singer’s Auto Salvage to Dean. He and Cas make good money running the shop. Cas handles the paperwork and budgeting, while Dean and his crew of mechanics take care of the grunt work. They’re comfortable in their suburban home, and with the Marriage Equality Act that passed last year, Castiel became an official Winchester a mere three days after the bill was signed and the law passed.

**  
**

The adoption process had indeed been a migraine-inducing roller coaster ride of emotions, but they came out on top six months ago when a teenage girl from Hoboken signed the papers to give Dean and Cas the blessing of a lifetime. The first few months were rough, as they’d anticipated, with many a sleepless night for Dean. When Mary wasn’t crying for a bottle, Cas was attempting to ease his anxiety that we’re doing it all wrong, Dean, we’re gonna screw her up. Cas’ parenting instincts kicked in soon after, and he became as comfortable with Mary as he’s always been with Dean.

**  
**

When his slice of pie is gone, Dean places the plate and fork back on the tray and rises to dress for the day. His knees and shoulders and neck and back all pop in odd places when he stretches, and the chill in the air is making his fingers and wrists a little stiff. He’s happy to have lasted to forty years old with only minor complaints in the aches and pains department, and zero complaints in the living department.

**  
**

Shortly after one, the guests begin to pour in. Sam and Jess and Lily arrive first, and Dean hugs his brother and sister-in-law, making comments about how badly Sammy needs a haircut, how radiant Jess is looking, and how Lily’s quickly becoming just as beautiful as her mom. They turn to Cas, greet him with hugs, and he scoops Lily up in his free arm. They buzz at each other like bees, and Lily rubs her nose against Cas’. it’s their version of a secret handshake and Dean’s brimming with pride watching his husband play with his favorite niece, while Lily laps up all the attention her favorite uncle showers her with.

**  
**

Gabriel greets Dean with a raucous laugh when he arrives, assuming his little joke was hilarious and original. Castiel pulls his brother to the side and quietly tears him a new one until Gabriel begrudgingly apologizes to him with a long-suffering sigh.

**  
**

Dean cooks burgers and hot dogs and bratwurst on his George Foreman grill, all the while cursing his birthday for falling in the middle of winter when they can’t have a real cookout without risking hypothermia. The adults sit and have beers together in the living room after eating. Mary dozes in her swing and Lily colors in her Power Rangers coloring book on the plush carpet in front of the coffee table while a cartoon plays on Dean and Castiel’s TV.

**  
**

Above their mantle that’s littered with pictures of the two of them and Mary, and Sam and Jess and Lily and Gabe, hangs a large placard that takes up that majority of the wall. Engraved in delicate cursive are the words, _Blessed are the forgetful, for they get the better even of their blunders._ Dean doesn’t care that it was Nietzsche who’d originally said it. When Castiel brought the placard home, teary-eyed, because _this is about us, Dean,_ Dean had hung it on the wall without question.

**  
**

And you know what? Cas had been right. That Nietzsche quote probably is about them.

**  
**

They’re all laughing as they sip their drinks, reminiscing about the two idiots who couldn’t get their shit together for three whole years before finally saying fuck it, and really putting the effort into their relationship that it deserved. Over the past six years, Dean and Castiel have been told all about every time they’d screwed it up before finally getting it right. Gabriel told them that sometimes one or both of them had truly been in the wrong and didn't deserve the other's forgiveness. Jess had even told them once that sometimes they’d been so dysfunctional that she and Sam and Gabriel and everyone involved had honestly considered moving one of the two out of the city so there’d be no chance of this same thing happening again.

**  
**

Now they’ve worked through all their issues, overcome their fear of commitment, and finally settled into a happy and healthy relationship where they’re honest with each other and sensitive to one another’s needs. The only fights they have these days revolve around Dean leaving his socks on the bathroom floor after his shower and Cas forgetting to take the trash out to the curb every once in awhile. They stress about the electric bill and the mortgage payments like every other married couple on the face of the earth, but at the end of the day they still have each other. And they have Mary and their families and their small circle of friends.

  
And at forty, what more can a guy ask for, really?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would just really like to take a few minutes to thank and acknowledge some people who made this fic possible.
> 
> First and foremost, I need to thank my artist, Liz, whose artwork has exceeded my already super high expectations and helped bring my vision for Blessed are the Forgetful spectacularly to life. Also, a giant thank you to Bryce; her flawless alpha/beta reading abilities somehow took my insane drivel and turned it into something somewhat legible. I swear without her this story would have probably been just one long sentence with far too many commas and semicolons. Thank you both so much!
> 
> Moving on, I’d like to acknowledge Jana, who comforted me and talked me through numerous crippling bouts of writer’s block through the initial draft process. Without Jana, Blessed are the Forgetful may have never gotten finished. Thanks, sugar, you’re a fucking godsend and I love you for it.
> 
> I also really really need to thank tumblr users almaasi, whencastielfalls, and lingeringdust. Without their reassurance and distracting conversations, the hours-long panic attack that was artist claims would have been absolutely unbearable. Elmie, thank you for singing inbox karaoke with me and for crying over Dean and Castiel’s stupid, ridiculous profound bond with me to take my mind off of the panic; you’re wonderful. Cassie, thank you for discussing Sam and Castiel’s epic friendship with me; it was a welcome distraction and I cannot wait to read your SamCas Big Bang in December! Izzy, thanks for being the first person on the day of artist claims to reassure me and let me know that just because I didn’t get claimed right away, it doesn’t mean that my story/summary/writing style wasn’t good enough - your reassurance was a lifesaver! 
> 
> A massive shout out to irl friend Steph, whose unhealthy obsession with Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind served as the initial inspiration for this fic. 
> 
> And finally, I need to thank and acknowledge my husband, Greg - who would be irritated beyond belief knowing he’s been included in this list. Greg’s overwhelming patience and unwavering support have undoubtedly made me a stronger writer. My relationship with Greg is dysfunctional to the max, and some days I wonder if we’ll wind up like Dean and Castiel in this story, falling in love and falling apart over and over again until we finally get it right. You are truly an inspiration, babe, and I could have never written this without you.


End file.
